The Shape of Things Yet To Come
by thoth-anubis
Summary: Scenes, & sections of stories, that either stand alone as one shots, or provide a glimpse into planned future works.  Ch 9: Bad Girl 2 ... and now Ch 10: Bad Future, Part 2
1. Bad Future

**Brief Author's Note: ** While I work on other stories, I thought I'd share these snippets of half-written works, pieces of planned works, and other scenes that have already been written and such. These mostly stand alone, and don't really spoil anything of the larger (planned) works they are taken from (though one is a fair teaser), although I expect when I eventually write enough to reach these sections, I'll have to modify them to suit where the story is. Hopefully you'll enjoy these as is, and these will tide you over until I update the existing works in progress.

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**A scene from an eventually forthcoming work tentatively titled "Bad Future" (not that work in progress titles mean much, in my case).**

**DING-DONG!** The ringing of the doorbell echoed through the dusty and partially destroyed lair.

From his position elbow deep inside the bowels of an incomplete and heavily damaged Destructo Bot, Dr. Drakken bellowed, "Shego!"

"What?" she called back, not looking up from her copy of "Modern Villainess" magazine.

"Answer the door!" he bellowed again, squinting even through the highly polarized lenses of his welding goggles as the plasma cutting torch he was using sliced through a broken fragment of armor, clearing the way to the power core he was attempting to salvage from the demolished machine.

"Get it yourself," Shego retorted, scowling down at the smirking image of Arena Lynn that graced the center spread of the magazine.

Looking up from his work, Drakken bellowed, "What do I pay you for if you won't even answer the door?"

"No menial labor. It's one of the clauses in my contract right after 'No cloning,'" Shego lazily called back. She tore the section of the magazine gushing about Adrena Lynn's promising future in evil and incinerated it with a casual eruption of green flame.

**DING-DONG!** The doorbell echoed through the lair once more.

Dr. Drakken grumbled under his breath as he stalked to the entrance, tossing his goggles carelessly behind him. Peering into a device that closely resembled the periscope assembly of a World War II-era submarine, he checked the identity of his visitor.

"Shego!" he bellowed.

"What?" she called back, not looking up from her now abbreviated magazine.

"The buffoon is here. Come take care of him. And hurry! If he's here, Kim Possible must be as well!"

So great was her surprise, Shego actually set aside her magazine and sauntered over to the front door. "It can't be him; Kimmie ditched him years ago." She peered through the periscope, then raised a quizzical eyebrow as she looked up. "Well, I'll be... it is him." She pressed a button mounted on the wall near the door, and stepped back as the thick door swung open with a groan of long-disused hinges.

"What are you doing?" Drakken demanded furiously, stomping over to his sidekick. "Get him!"

Ron Stoppable stepped into Dr. Drakken's lair and smiled at the green tinged villainess. "Now why would she want to do that? I do have an appointment, after all. Hello, Shego. Nice to see you again."

"Nice suit, Stoppable," she grinned back, eyeing him up and down and nodding in appreciation. "Saville Row?"

"Hong Kong, actually," he replied, smoothing the lay of his silk tie with one hand, his splayed fingers keeping the clawed tips of his gloves from touching the material. "I've heard Scotland Yard wants to talk to me as a 'Person of Interest' in a few matters, so I haven't been back to the United Kingdom since Monty's funeral."

Drakken blinked in confusion, looking at the man he persisted in thinking of as Kim Possible's buffoonish sidekick - though the name continued to elude him. "_You're_ a villain? Since when?"

Ron snorted at that description of himself. "Not exactly." He snapped his fingers and a small white rectangle appeared in one hand as if by magic. "My card."

Shego took the card from Ron's hand and examined it curiously as Drakken peered over her shoulder. "'Zorpox the Realtor' ... Cavern complexes, undersea labs, hollowed-out volcanoes... We build lairs to suit?" Shego read aloud.

"'Ask me about excessive power availability!'" Drakken's eyes widened in undisguised delight.

Grinning somewhat sheepishly, Ron lowered the red-tinted goggles that had been concealed in his disordered hair so that they covered his eyes, then clenched his fists, causing them to erupt with the same blue plasma flame that usually graced Drakken's henchmen's shock sticks. "It's a bit cliché and derivative I admit, but when one deals with a niche clientele, it pays to appeal to the market." He flexed his hands, and the flame flickered and faded. "And what can I say? I know a lot about villainous lairs."

** **

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	2. A Glimpse of Future STD

**A scene from approximately the third or fourth story arc of "Kim Possible: STD"**

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The hallway was mostly deserted as Kim and Ron entered Middleton High, Ron following in her wake through a double door located near the gym. But as their guest trailed along behind them, a distinctly unwelcome voice showed that they weren't entirely alone.

"I can't wait to hear you explain this one, Kim."

Kim glanced over at Bonnie, who was lounging against her locker while hanging out with Tara and Amber in the hallway before classes began. "Explain what?" she asked.

Bonnie pointed with a jerk of her chin to Kim's cousin Joss, her lips creasing into a wicked smile as she took in the face and hairstyle that looked so much like Kim's, above clothing identical to Ron's - an oversized red jersey over a black turtleneck and cargo pants. "Stoppable's and your daughter there. She's much too old for it to have been normal - like anything involving you or Ron could _ever_ be normal. So how'd it happen? Is she a visitor from a parallel dimension? Another weird cloning mishap? Mutagenic ooze? Time travel? Age-ray?"

"Sounds like someone's been reading the website," Joss mock- whispered to Ron with a giggle, deliberately loud enough for Bonnie to overhear and flush - either in anger or embarrassment.

"Coolio, Bon-bon... What's your screen name in the chat room? Anything I'd recognize?" Ron grinned. "One of the Ron-man's many fans?"

Bonnie favored Ron with a withering glare, which rolled over him without impact. He simply smiled and waited for her answer - which was _not_ forthcoming.

"She's _not_ my daughter, Bonnie," Kim explained, shaking her head at Joss and Ron's antics as they tweaked her rival.

"I'm not Ron's daughter either," Joss chimed in. "Heck, if I _was_ his daughter, I reckon my drawers would have dropped by now."

Like magic, Ron's pants chose that moment to drop to the floor, followed a heartbeat later by Joss's own. Revealed by the possibly accidental incident were his red boxer shorts with white spots, and her complimentary white boxer shorts with red spots.

"Boy, howdy," Joss commented, pulling her pants back up with a smirk even as Ron fixed his own. "Would you lookee there. You'd almost think we were related or somethin'."

Bonnie snorted in disgust and stomped away, irked that her needling of Kim had been turned on her.

"Boo-yah!" Ron high-fived Kim's cousin as they chortled together. "Nice one," he praised, as he flashed a thumbs-up sign. "Like I said - smart as a whip."

Tara and Amber were both wide-eyed as they looked back and forth between Kim, Ron, and Joss. "You mean she really _is_ your daughter?" Tara asked hesitantly.

"No, Tara. She's my cousin. She just... idolizes Ron," Kim explained, rolling her eyes as Rufus scampered up through Ron's clothes, down his arm, then jumped from Ron's hand to Joss'.

Blushing, Tara shrugged. "I didn't really think she could be, but the way things happen around you - and especially Ron..." she trailed off.

"It's no big," Kim answered easily, still frowning at Ron and Joss as Rufus took the opportunity to cheer and congratulate the girl in turn from his new perch on Joss' shoulder.

"Stoppable! Possible!" Mr. Barkin's raised voice echoed through the hall. He marched towards them, then abruptly came to a stop as he noticed the other Possible in their midst. He eyeballed them for a long minute, his brow furrowing deeper and deeper as time passed. Finally, he spoke. "Daughter, clone, or time traveller?" he demanded.

"See?" Kim rolled her eyes as Tara giggled.

**

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	3. Arda

**A scene from an eventually forthcoming work tentatively titled "Arda," which is a crossover with "The Lord of the Rings" and is a hybrid of book and movie continuity - whichever aspect suits the needs at the time.**

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The Rohirrim defenders of the fortress complex staggered as they braced the giant timbers against the splintering door, trying desperately to shore up the defenses as the Uruk-hai battering ram slammed powerfully against the ancient wood again and again. A withering hail of arrows from the human and elven defenders poured down from the sky mixing with the heavy rain that fell, extracting a heavy toll on the army that assailed the ancient stronghold.

Saruman's armies absorbed the losses without a qualm. The mixed legions of Uruk-hai, goblins from Mordor and the Misty Mountains, and the hybrid man-orc crossbreeds from the foul breeding pits beneath the ancient spire of Orthanc looked barely diminished despite the mounded dead beneath the walls of Helm's Deep, and the carpet of the slain that blanketed the approach to Helm's Gate. With the destruction of the Deeping Wall, the fall of the citadel was inevitable - and both the attackers and the defenders knew it.

Ugluk, Saruman's chosen instrument to wipe the stain of man from the lands of Rohan roared, and at this command, another unit of goblins marched forward, eager to join the fray. The massive Uruk-hai's heavy lips drew back in a snarl of satisfaction as he saw an elf hurled bodily from the top of the inner citadel's walls, only to be torn apart as his body impaled itself on the pikes of the heavy infantry milling below, waiting for their turn to climb the ladders or pass through the openings forced in the defences.

A ripple ran through the waiting troops and first one, then another, then the army in its thousands began to crash sword against shield, fist to chest, and spearbutt against the muddy ground. Ugluk's broad nose sniffed the air curiously as the wave of tumult worked its way forward through the ranks of the army, then he began to laugh as he caught wind of what was coming and turned back to the citadel. _"It will all be over for them even sooner, now,"_ he gloated, his mirth shaking the rain- drenched locks of his hair, as he thrust his sword of blackened steel into the air in triumph.

The defenders heard the raucous cries, but most couldn't spare the time to look and see what new deviltry was coming. But gradually, as the noise increased, the fighting slowed as both the assaulting orcs and the human defenders turned to see.

A light appeared in the darkness; not the warm golden color of sunlight nor the crimson of flame, nor even the silver of moonlight. The light was the white of snow, purer and brighter than even the best of candles, and it glowed in the distant sky above the rearguard of the host of Isengard.

As the light slowly loomed larger and closer, the defenders quailed, and harsh whispers of "Witchcraft," arose. The fear that the ancient wizard of Isengard himself approached did more to break the weakened spirit of the defenders than even the shocking breach of the outer defenses.

The orcish armies began to chant in unison, the fell syllables growing in volume, but inaudible over the crash of metal on metal. Strangely, even as weapons crashed together until the sound rivaled a thousand forges, not a single spark could be seen arising from the besieging host.

The ominous chant grew in volume even as the clashing of weapons stilled, and the orcs inside the outer walls of Helm's Deep picked up the chant as the sounds of battle began to fade. For the first time, the frightened defenders heard the dread syllables as they erupted from the innumerable throats of the orcish horde: "She - go... She - go... She - go..."

Hovering in the air above the forefront of the ranked Uruk- hai, a ship appeared - more closely resembling a small river barge than the smooth-lined elven barques, or even a Gondorian patrol craft. Crafted of the black steel of Isengard, what looked like a round lantern hung on each of the corners of the rectangular craft, but the white light that blazed from these was powerful enough to turn the rainy night into day in the area around it and to send shafts of light to bathe the ground, illuminating the bitter harvest of corpses and the forest of spent arrows and bolts that sprouted from the muddy ground like a haphazardly planted and oft-trampled crop of wheat.

Bathed in the gentler light emanating from a glowing glass sphere mounted at the rear of the craft, a figure with greenish skin dressed in leathers of green and black stood up and raised its hands above its head. As two armies watched, the hands lit up with green flame that abruptly elongated, forming two flaming shafts of green power that lit the figure's face, revealing the evil smirk that creased the features of the beautiful woman.

The orcs roared their approval, and the chant redoubled in volume. Shego waved the plasma swords briefly, then quenched her power, leaving only the metal cylinders she held in her hands with no sign of the flaming green energy that she had wielded.

"They do know you work for me, don't they?" the driver of the craft irritably asked.

Shego smirked as she stepped down from the edge of the flying vehicle, out of sight of the armies below, and walked to the front of the craft as she stowed the quiescent hilts of her swords in her belt. "You confuse them, boss. Me? They annoy me, I kill them. They understand that. They respect that."

"Hmmph," the driver snorted, but he sounded mollified, nonetheless.

The flying craft slowly advanced until it hovered just outside the outer perimeter of Helm's Deep, even with the highest parapet at the peak of the central citadel. The lights mounted of the front of the craft slowly turned, sending shafts of brilliant light drifting across the fortress until they centered on the golden-armored figure of King Theoden, watching the battle with his generals from high above.

After barking, "Take the controls," and stepping aside to let Shego replace him, the driver rested one foot on the prow of his flying craft, bracing himself on what appeared to be a spear mounted on the front of the vessel like a figurehead, the shaft surrounded by metallic rings that glowed with a gentle yellow light. As he moved out of the shadows of the controls and into the white light, his blue skin was revealed, as well as the strange and outlandish garb he wore - like none any of the watchers had ever seen before. The figure raised an oddly shaped metal horn to his lips with one gloved hand. "Surrender Kim Possible to me," he demanded, his magnified voice echoing louder than even the chants of the teeming hordes below. His Westron was oddly accented, but easily understandable by all.

On a tier below the king, an elven archer found the target he presented to be irresistible. He raised his recurved bow, drew, and shot in one smooth movement. The arrow flew straight and true, but before it even neared the strange flying boat, the gentle yellow light emanating from the spear mounted at the fore pulsed, and the arrow disintegrated with a crack of thunder, and the scent of lightning as electricity crackled in midair, crawling through the sky in the outline of giant sphere surrounding the sky-barge. The elf simply stared, unable to believe what had happened. He drew and shot again, to identical results - and the mocking laughter of the orcs gathered at the foot of the walls.

"Yield her to me, or face the consequences," the blue man promised, ignoring the attack. As his voice echoed over the Hornburg, none doubted his words.

From the shadows behind King Theoden, a figure stepped into the light burning forth from the flying craft. The figure's red hair and fair skin were unremarkable among the Rohirrim, but the clothes she wore were just as foreign as those of the pair in the flying raft.

"I'll surrender," the figure called, her words accented in the same peculiar way as the blue-skinned man's, raising one hand to first brush the locks of her hair from her eyes, then to shield them against the glare of the spotlights. "If you save these people... Ron."

From his position at the head of his army, Ugluk laughed again, the guttural sound quickly joined by that of the entire army. In the sudden silence that followed the eruption of evil mirth, his voice rang across the ancient stone of the fortress, his accent thick, but comprehensible. "Fool human; Zorpox the Blue and Shego the Green serve the White Hand."

Whispers from the suriving elven warriors of _Ithryn luin_ were drowned out by a sudden roar in the black speech of Mordor.

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	4. Arda 2: A Chat Between Shego & Kim

**A scene from the story titled "Arda."**

**Author's Note:** This one isn't as polished as some of the others, but remains interesting. And yep, I think Zorpox is fun - both because he's adept and because he can be used in situations that Ron simply could not (or that Ron would be very limited in).

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"I just can't believe Ron would do something like that," Kim shook her head in disbelief, leaning back against the blackened steel sideboard of the flying craft and staring at Ron as he piloted the vessel. "Even evil Ron is still Ron ... or at least, I'd have thought he was."

Shego smirked and waved a hand dismissively. "Don't shed any tears over it, Kimmie. He's just testing his evil wings. He'll settle down."

Kim raised an eyebrow and stared at the villainess. "What does _that_ mean?" she asked, a hint of confusion leavened with distrust in her voice.

Shego looked over the sea of trees that they were flying over. "There's all kinds of evil, Kimmie. As many different kinds as there are different people - and there's a lot of people in the world - whether you're talking about this one, or ours."

"That makes... a certain kind of sense, I suppose. And?" Kim prompted.

Shego paused, trying to clarify her thoughts. "Look, when it comes to the big time evil - me, Dementor, Monkey Fist, even Killagan, we've pretty much figured out who we are, what kind of evil we are."

"Okay..." Kim's brow furrowed, but she still nodded for Shego to continue.

"Ron on the other hand... he went right from being a goody-two-shoes white hat to being a full blown supervillain - without any of the steps in between."

Kim blinked. "I guess, sure..."

"Normally, supervillains don't spring up overnight. It takes a lot of time, a lot of baby steps, a lot of lesser villainy, before you suddenly decide you want to hold the world hostage to your 'Nano Imploding Mega Cosmic Whatchamacallit.' Heck, it takes practice just to come up with menacing names for the doohickeys, or to do an evil laugh without snickering because it's such a stupid and clichéd thing to do."

Raising an eyebrow, Kim noted, "I can see you put your time with Señor Senior, Senior to good use."

Shego smirked. "Senior's okay; a bit hung up on the trappings, but he's rich - he can afford to be eccentric like that. Dr. D on the other hand... It doesn't matter if he's in an abandoned warehouse, or the most modern lab, he'll manage to concoct a scheme no matter where he is.

"But don't mistake my point, Kimmie," Shego continued. "Villainy. You start off with a little robbery, a little assault, a little B&E, you work your way up. Or you drop out. Maybe spend some time as a henchman, maybe being a sidekick for a few years, get some practice, some exposure, do some networking, figure out what you're good at - or evil at, in this case."

"Thinking of spreading your own evil wings?" Kim asked curiously.

Shego actually laughed at that. "Not yet; taking over the world's too much like real work," she snickered. "Plus, I like still being low enough on the totem pole that I get put in a minimum security facility when Dr. D's schemes fall apart."

"I've always wondered about that," Kim frowned.

"Degrees of evil," Shego waved dismissively. "Which gets back to my point. Most people - most _villains_, even - never reach supervillain status. It takes a certain kind of evil to do the things we do, and less of _other_ kinds of evil. It's a fine line, and as you work your way up the evil hierarchy, you find which side of that line you fall on. Most stick to the lower rungs, some go legit, a few become supervillains, a few more... go to the other side of the line."

Seeing Kim was confused, Shego tried to explain, "There's evil, and then there's _evil_." When Kim looked like she was going to interrupt again, she continued, "Think of it as the difference between Senior's evil, and Hitler's evil. Not exactly a kinder, gentler evil, but you should get the point. There are lines me and Dr. D won't cross; it's not the same as Dementor's line, or Monkey Fist's, but we've all got one."

Kim nodded, as Shego continued. "What supervillainy _really_ means is that you're not a serious enough threat that the world's militaries start contemplating lobbing cruise missiles at you, or sending assassins, or SEAL teams, or whatever, but you're taken seriously enough that the governments won't hang up when you call to make your demands. I can think of a couple names of would-be supervillains who were real up and comers, but you'll have never heard of them. The reason for **that** being that they all had unfortunate and highly improbable and totally untraceable 'accidents' that cut their evil careers short."

Kim looked vaguely disturbed at that, but Shego simply smirked. "You can bet Dr. Betty Director didn't lose her eye in an unfortunate paper shuffling mishap." Kim looked even more disturbed at _that_ possibility. "I know I'm good at what I do, but..." Shego shrugged. "You know how it goes. Heck, you saw what happened when Ron rented you a squad.

"Which brings us back to Ron," Shego leaned back and ran a hand through her hair. "Ron's suddenly a supervillain, blood and bone, but he doesn't really understand what that _means_. He's got the drive, he's got the impulses, but he didn't work his way up from petty villainy, learning what kind of evil he really is, what kinds of stuff he likes to - and can - do. So he has to improvise."

Remembering the events at Helm's Deep, Kim shook her head, refusing to believe it. "Some improvisation."

"Don't judge, Kimmie. You don't..." Shego breathed deeply, quelling her sudden flash of anger before she continued.

"See, most people," Shego continued, picking up her thread as though Kim hadn't spoken, her voice rigidly controlled, "if they think about supervillain-type evil, they mainly think about movies, books, maybe a few 'true crime' TV shows if they caught the bug early enough, that sort of thing."

"Makes sense. So what?"

"Ron isn't most people. He knows all of those, plus he's got the examples of all the villains you two have ever faced, all the ones he's ever heard of, all the ones he's met... If Ron was the type, he could probably write an encyclopedia of evil supervillains - past and present."

"I repeat: so what? That would apply to me, too - and you."

"Hello... evil already," Shego pointed to herself, then to Kim, "And not evil... yet."

Kim snorted. "Right."

Shego shrugged. "Maybe. Maybe not. Most white hats do just fade into obscurity; but it's not unheard of."

"So, not," Kim insisted.

"Case in point," Shego pointed to herself again. "But we're getting off topic."

Kim nodded, and waited expectantly.

"See, Ron is suddenly big time evil, but doesn't know what that means for him because he didn't... _grow_ evil, if you know what I mean. But he _does_ have a ton of examples to emulate - so he is. What he's doing is trying on different people's evils, seeing if they fit him. Well, except for that evil laugh of his... I don't have a clue where that came from."

Kim stared at Ron as he worked the controls, trying to see the real Ron through the "evil" he was trying on.

"I recognize bits of Dementor's shtick in the way he acts sometimes, plus there's Dr. D's mad scientist thing he's got going, and either he really misses his little rat-thing, or he's tried to emulate Gemini, too - you can be thankful you weren't around for that one; I thought Saruman was going to blow a gasket when Ron pulled that one."

Frowning thoughtfully, Kim thought back to the Middleton High cafeteria, when Ron's implanted evil had first started to manifest itself. With Shego's prompting, and the benefit of hindsight, it was clear Ron had used a flashlight in a way that resembled one of Professor Dementor's 'dramatic villain lights.' And the way he'd stroked Rufus? It was a lot like Gemini with Pepe, or like the head of G.H.O.S.T. from that 770 spy movie... _"Is she right?"_ Kim wondered. _"Is Ron just acting like he thinks a supervillain - or all supervillains - are supposed to act?"_

"I blame you for some of his attitude, though," Shego smirked. "He's got a _real_ touchy thing going about how sidekicks are supposed to behave and not letting _anyone_ control him..."

"I never controlled him!" Kim protested.

"Oh, puh-lease," Shego rolled her eyes.

Kim flushed as she remembered telling her mother, 'I know what's best for Ron, even if he doesn't,' when she had compelled Ron to get his now infamous new haircut. "Well, maybe a little."

"So, he's spreading his evil wings," Shego shrugged. She looked away as she concluded, "He's finding his way. Even with some of the things he's done, it's actually kind of... cute."

Kim's eyebrows shot up. "Cute? First mom, now you... what is it with older women thinking Ron's cute?" she demanded. "He is so _not_ cute!"

Shego snarled at Kim's description of her, but managed to control her outburst of temper. "It's not like I'm picking out a china pattern to steal or anything, but lets face it; finding a 'good' man to hook up with is tough in our line of work."

Wincing slightly, Kim had to grant the point, but Shego pressed on without waiting for a response.

"Add in the whole 'evil' thing, and it's even tougher," Shego continued. "There's lots of types of evil, and not all of them work well together, even if the guy won't stab you in the back first chance he gets - that's one of the reasons why I stuck with Dr. D for so long; it might not seem like we have much in common, but we still work together reasonably well, and aside from his little cloning fetish, I could sort of trust him. I tried to teach Junior to be like me, and it worked for a time, but he was just too shallow; it didn't really take. A boy toy is fine for a weekend, but long term? _Please._ There's not enough money in the world.

"So along comes Ron. Or Zorpox, whatever... His evil, my evil? It's beginning to look like they're not so different, really. Maybe it's the similar background thing. Who cares? Point is, it's interesting enough to make me willing to stick around, see how he turns out despite the inevitable rough patches."

Kim goggled at Shego, utterly aghast.

"What?" Shego asked, one corner of her lips tilting up in a smirk. "You never thought about it? While he was following you around like a whipped puppy just _begging_ to be stroked?" her voice had regained some of its mocking edge.

"Can I just say, _eww_ to that?" Kim demanded.

Shego laughed. "Sometimes I forget how young you really are, Kimmie." She stretched languorously as she eyed Kim's reaction curiously. "You're such a good fighter, I tend to ignore the other parts of your personality. But for your information, there are a lot worse people to hook up with than someone who worships the ground you walk on; get a few more years of experience under your belt and you'll learn that lesson. Too bad you lost your chance with this one."

"Ron is... He's not Zorpox, he's _Ron_. And I am going to get him back," Kim promised herself. "Somehow. And not... like..." she waved irritatedly _that_."

Shego shrugged, leaned back against the gunwale, and looked up at the clouds. "Whatever. Like I said, it's just a possibility. I'm not planning on doing anything until I see how he turns out. It'll be an interesting ride, in any case."

Kim chose not to think too deeply about Shego's choice of words. She simply laid back, parallel to Shego, and tried to get some rest.

"One word of advice?" Shego suddenly broke the uncomfortable silence that had ensued.

Kim debated with herself, but finally did respond, "Yes?"

"While we're on this little journey? If Ron tries to give you a bucket, don't even stop to ask questions. Just say _NO._" She rolled over and pretended to sleep.

_"A bucket?"_ Kim wondered. _"What does a bucket have to do with...? Is Shego just messing with my head?"_

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	5. Ron Factor Found

**Notes: ** The opening part of another potential story. There's a little prelude to potential future Kim-Ron, a little nudity, innuendo, double entendres, and some voyeuristic elements, but nothing really bad.

The opening section of a story tentatively named, "**Ron Factor Found.**" This part doesn't include spoilers for the main plot.

Summary: Kim & Dr. Director watch a naked Ron in the shower - but it's not (entirely) what you think.

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Kim waved goodbye to Tara as she walked out of the Middleton High gymnasium after practice. It had gone well, even with Ron stuck in detention for not turning in the extra homework he'd earned for not turning in the extra homework of the night before soon enough.

_"Mr. Barkin is definitely taking this extra homework thing way too far with Ron,"_ she thought, stepping to the side as a freshman on his skateboard zoomed by. _"On the other hand... I can't really argue with the results."_ Ron was so terrified of having even _more_ piled on him that he was actually _doing_ the homework.

She hid a small grin at the thought as she turned a corner, passing the nearly empty bike rack near a side entrance. She was still grinning, remembering the serious face Ron had worn while infiltrating the school's ventilation system while trying to get the assignment turned in (despite the impossible deadline) when the ground beneath her feet opened up and she dropped off the face of the Earth.

"Oh, come on!" Kim called out as the transparent capsule she found herself trapped within began to accelerate. She was less panicked than she'd been the first time she had been shanghaied by the Global Justice transport network, but she still found it disorienting and disturbing.

_"Not exactly your typical amusement park ride,"_ she winced to herself as the capsule made an inexplicable loop-de- loop. As the bottom of the capsule began to stream flame up the transparent walls, reaching as high as her waist, Kim wondered at how the transport system worked, the mechanism for locomotion, how fast she was really going, why she didn't feel any heat as the flames rose ever higher around the cylindrical shell, and most importantly... _"Why can't Dr. Director ever just **call** me?"_

The cylindrical pod came to a halt with a jarring lurch that rocked Kim on her heels, even though she was expecting it. As the doors to both the capsule and the tube system swung open in harmony, she immediately staggered through the opening, and entered the hidden Global Justice base.

"Welcome back to GJ, Kimberly Possible," Dr. Director intoned, her lips curving into a smile.

"Thanks," Kim replied sardonically, running her fingers through her hair as a makeshift comb. "You really know how to make an invitation."

The older woman's grin widened, and she gestured Kim to follow as she turned and walked out of the transport room. "My apologies for the lack of forewarning, but frankly I was just too excited to wait, and I just knew that you would be, too."

"Really?" Kim wondered aloud, her head swiveling back and forth as she walked, trying to see everything there was to see. They were passing through a section of the base she didn't remember seeing on any of her previous visits, and she found the hum of activity as GJ operatives went about their duties to be enthralling.

Dr. Director opened a door and gestured Kim through, then followed her in. "Please, take a seat."

Kim glanced around the room they'd entered, and realized it was either a small auditorium, or a large briefing room with tiered stadium seating. She selected a seat in the center of the first row and watched Dr. Director as she strode to the front and center and picked up a small remote control from atop a lectern.

"One of our top scientists," Dr. Director began, trying in vain to hide the enthusiasm that was constantly threatening to bubble over, "was going over some of our surveillance footage - footage from our 'Ron Factor' project."

Raising an eyebrow, Kim somehow managed to suppress the first half dozen things that immediately came to mind to say in response. She limited herself to a carefully neutral, "Oh?"

"Yes," Dr. Director responded, her sole eye alight. "He watched it over and over, because something seemed... off, but he could never place what it was. At first we thought... well, we thought it was something else, but then we noticed the same thing. Let me show you," she continued, pressing a button on the remote.

The lights obediently dimmed, and a projector hidden somewhere in the rear of the room brightened to life. After a short view of a blue screen with of a series of project numbers, identification marks, time stamps, and location codes, an image of a bank of lockers appeared in gigantic scale on the wall above Dr. Director's head.

"When the project was active," Dr. Director continued, "we didn't realize what we'd recorded. We assumed it was all a titanic failure; a complete waste of a whole lot of federal research dollars." Her smile was visible on her profile as she half-turned her face and stared up at the projected image. "But we were wrong."

On the wall above her head, Ron Stoppable walked into view in front of the locker, wearing his familiar red jersey and tan cargo pants. "What we had..." Dr. Director's grin broadened as she continued to watch, "was marvelous. Miraculous."

Ron's image drew his jersey and turtleneck over his head in one motion, leaving his torso bare. Kim's eyes widened as Ron opened the locker and stowed his shirts, then started to unbuckle his belt.

"Dr. Director," Kim began, unable to believe her eyes as the film continued to play out, "What...?"

"Keep watching," Dr. Director instructed, turning away from the display for a moment. Her eye gleamed as she added, "You'll see for yourself, shortly."

"That's what I'm afraid of," Kim mumbled. She kept watching, despite her misgivings, as he methodically removed his pants then stowed them carefully (_"Probably so he won't wake Rufus,"_ she thought) but closed her eyes as Ron's hands gripped the waistband of his pink boxer shorts.

"The exciting part is coming right here," Dr. Director breathed reverently, her eye riveted to the projection.

Kim's face flushed a brilliant crimson, and despite herself, her eyes opened. _"Yep, he's naked,"_ she noted, quickly closing her eyes again. _"And he's a boy."_

"Pay particular attention to the way he moves," Dr. Director instructed, her eyes riveted to the movie, not noticing Kim had closed her eyes. "You'll see shortly why it is so significant."

Kim squeezed her eyes even more tightly closed. "He's naked," she protested.

"Yes... It's the best footage we captured," Dr. Director answered offhandedly. "I was pleased when I saw it - there's no clothing to interfere with the camera's recording, so it eliminated a great deal of uncertainty in our analysis."

"But he's _naked_," Kim repeated with emphasis.

Dr. Director waved a hand dismissively, "He signed a waiver. Now, if you look here," she continued, unconcerned - unaware of the reasoning, even - with Kim's protest.

Kim's eyes slowly opened, and was immediately confronted with a monumental vision of Ron-ness spread across the vast expanse of the auditorium wall. _"This is some sort of divine punishment, right?"_ she asked herself. _"Karmic payback for changing my clothes in front of him all those times?"_ Despite herself and her nervousness, she was becoming... a little interested as she watched.

xxxXXXxxx

She often found it hard to think of Ron as a _boy_, despite the Moodulator incident, Drakken's Mind-Swap machine, and a thousand lesser events over the years. _"He's not really a boy, he's... **Ron**. Who I used to take baths with. My best friend since Pre-K. The ballerina to my cowboy. He's something... entirely different than a boy."_

Even her father was so used to thinking of the two of them as a set, rather than their component parts (so to speak) that it had taken her wearing the little black dress - she'd been dressed not just to the nines, but dressed to stalk, kill, stuff, (_"eat and mount"_, a little voice insisted on adding in her head), and display the prey she'd bagged like a trophy on the mantle (_"or a ring finger,"_ that little voice interjected again) when she was done to boot - before he'd ever thought to give Ron the "Black Hole" lecture.

Now, in full color, and in a massive display that was impossible to ignore just by virtue of its sheer magnitude, she was forced to face a simple truth. _"Ron isn't just Ron, he's also definitely a guy."_ Kim didn't know whether to be angry, upset, or thankful towards Dr. Director for forcing her to face this moment of enlightenment, but she knew without a doubt that she'd never be able to look at Ron in quite the same way again.

xxxXXXxxx

"... you can see that he's entirely naked, which removes both clothing, and its interaction with his skin from the equation, which simplified the math enormously."

"It certainly does that," Kim squirmed uncomfortably in her seat. She felt unaccountably warm as she watched him, and his movements, as instructed.

Ron was obviously unaware of the surveillance, and since he thought he was alone, he was completely open and unashamed of his nudity as he stowed the last of his clothing in the locker. He looked relaxed, and from the small smile on his face, he looked to not have a care or concern in the world.

xxXXxx

Many times - although not often when Kim herself was directly involved (or directed to her, anyway - they knew each other too well for that to work effectively) - Ron would present a face to the world that he thought would make other people like him, want him, accept him, praise him, or whatever other goal he desired. He'd tried it with a bad boy persona, a new haircut, the Mad Dog routine, and dozens of other times.

He donned them effortlessly... For a time. Maintaining them... That was another matter entirely.

Here, thinking himself unobserved, she was able to see him as he behaved without the need to don those masks or assume those personas - either with anyone else, or with her. The fact that he was still so _Ron-like_ - just like he was when he was alone with her - was almost a surprise.

Kim found it to be oddly reassuring, despite the blush in her cheeks as she watched him. She had always thought Ron was at his best, and most natural - free of pretensions and airs - when he was with her, but now she had proof of that - of sorts.

_"Not that watching him take off his clothes and goof around while stripping is much of a proof,"_ she admitted to herself. _"I just wish I knew why Dr. Director wanted me to watch this. He's so... naked. Uninhibited. Even more than usual."_

xxXXxx

Ron collected a towel from a stack at the end of the bank of lockers, but thinking himself alone, he didn't bother to wrap it around himself. He moved out of the camera range for a moment, but then the view shifted to another camera, one that watched him retreat down a row of lockers.

Kim's blush deepened as she watched his backside wiggle as he walked, and she found her gaze drawn to a dimple she hadn't known he possessed. _"That's adorable..."_ When she remembered she was watching _Ron_, her blush deepened further. "Good thing Drakken's pollen's long since worn off, or I'd be completely gone by now."

"What was that?" Dr. Director asked curiously, turning away from the playback.

"Nothing," Kim stammered, feeling her cheeks flush brighter. _"I **so** didn't mean to say that out loud."_

"Hmm," Dr. Director's eye narrowed curiously, but she turned back to watch the screen. "You understand of course, that the original holographic footage has been rendered down to two dimensions for this compilation, which will affect the perspectives a bit."

"Of course," Kim agreed blandly. _"Note to self: Holo-Ron. Suggested birthday gift. Start hinting."_

"Ah," Dr. Director interrupted Kim's naughty thought. "We're getting to the best part." The camera angle shifted again, to one looking out of the back of the locker room's shower area.

Kim blinked, as a sudden thought occurred to her that had been nagging at the back of her mind, but had been overshadowed by the sheer overwhelming ... _Ron-ness_ of what she'd been watching. "Dr. Director, why do you have so many cameras in the boys' locker room at school?"

"It's not just the locker room, Kimberly. While the Ron Factor project was in progress, we recorded quite literally everything Ron did, everywhere he went, everyone he met, until Sheldon interfered," Dr. Director explained, pausing the playback with Ron about to step into the shower room, having deposited his towel on a nearby bench.

"The bathroom? The locker room?" Kim asked. "The _bedroom_?"

"Certainly. But don't worry; it was a relatively simple matter to digitally remove all irrelevant subjects from the recordings, while still retaining the necessary parameters for proper computer analysis."

"Is this legal?" Kim wondered aloud, staring up at the screen, and the naked Ron plastered across it. She felt confused on a number of levels, and the amorality of the voyeurism was beginning to overwhelm her embarrassment. "It seems ferociously unethical - not to mention the fact that he _is_ underage."

Dr. Director smiled politely - and mysteriously. "We have the necessary authorizations," she answered, but didn't explain what _had_ been required.

Kim's eyes narrowed. For a moment, she wondered about what _else_ Dr. Director had received authorization for. "Who else has seen this?"

"No one without clearance," GJ's commander explained easily. Before Kim could express further reservations, Dr. Director resumed the playback.

"Now, watch this," Dr. Director instructed. Ron stepped into the shower room (which looked a great deal like the girls', Kim noticed, aside from the color of the tile). He took two steps into the room, then slipped and fell onto his back. "You see?" she demanded, her eye alight.

"Ron fell," Kim shrugged. _"Not exactly a new occurrence, even if the naked part is different."_

"Yes, but did you see _why_ he fell?" Dr. Director asked.

"Wet tile?" Kim guessed. "Or maybe just his Ron-ness. He is kind of clumsy," she explained apologetically, looking away from the screen as Ron slowly climbed to his feet, rubbing his rear end with one hand.

Dr. Director stopped the playback, and nodded in acceptance of Kim's analysis. "You might expect so, given the raw footage. But something didn't look right, so we did some additional examination of the evidence."

_"No wonder there were so many federal dollars wasted,"_ Kim thought.

"To start, we built this virtual model of Ronald," Dr. Director explained, as she started another projector. At first, both projectors ran at the same time, rendering neither's output visible, but as she shut down the first, the image of the new one sprang into focus, revealing...

"A skeleton?"

"_Ron's_ skeleton to be exact," Dr. Director nodded. "Based on the scans we made of his body, and the surveillance footage, we were able to generate his internals - down to the deepest levels. We also procured some security footage from the Middleton Space Center which greatly facilitated this part of the process; thanks to that information, it was more a matter of properly aging and enlarging his bone structure to fit his current size than deriving all the minuscule details from scratch.

"Once we had the skeleton built, we added the ligaments, musculature, circulatory systems," Dr. Director droned on, listing the various components of a human's anatomy, and on the screen, Ron's flesh grew atop his bones, "using first the average values for American males of his phenotype, then comparing the results to our surveillance footage to check the accuracy, adjusting them where necessary.

"At first we had some problems integrating our baseline scans into this process - the clothing issue I mentioned before. Fortunately, we were able to procure identical articles of all of his clothing - from a single source, oddly enough - which simplified the process of digitally removing them from the scans."

"Smarty-mart," Kim mumbled under her breath.

"Exactly. And it was a surprisingly affordable part of the process."

"It figures."

The image on screen was now an identical match for the photographic surveillance videos; they had duplicated Ron digitally, down to the smallest hair - it briefly zoomed in to display what might have been the beginnings of a pimple or possibly an extrusion from a hair follicle on his chin as proof of that fact.

Rotating, the image now showed Ron's body from all angles and perspectives as the limbs began to move, demonstrating both range of motion exercises, and his normal mannerisms - with the computer simulation side by side with clips of video as evidentiary support for their accuracy. Kim had to admit that it looked very, very close; it even appeared to match his easygoing devil-may-care attitude.

"Next," Dr. Director continued, "we replicated the shower room."

A much simpler process was illustrated, starting from a simple wireframe diagram of the room, and ending with a simulation that looked very close to the original.

"The tile color's too uniform," Kim noted, more to say something than to offer a true critique - it was frankly astounding the level of detail and precision that GJ had gone to just because Ron had slipped in the shower. _"How much did they spend on this?"_

"We were economizing on the rendering," Dr. Director admitted. "We had to cash in some favors to Foggy Bottom and Langley as it was to get the analyses done on a timely basis. But the friction coefficients, surface mapping, and every other aspect of the room that we could think of has been accounted for, and perfectly replicated in the simulation. We used a laser scanner to double check the dimensions, and measured every background characteristic we could think of to incorporate into the simulation."

"Okay," Kim replied, her brow furrowing. "That explains why the boys' locker room was closed for a week. The bigger question is _why_?"

"Watch..." Dr. Director replied, animation returning to her features. On the screen, Ron's digital model was suddenly in the shower room, posed precisely as Ron had been before his slip and fall.

"We did an analysis on the surveillance footage," Dr. Director explained. "From every angle, taking every possible factor into account..."

The perspective zoomed in until Ron's lower half filled the screen.

"Then we incorporated our data on Ronald's range of motion, reflexes, musculature, and everything else. This was then plotted in this _thrust_ vector analysis and _force_ measurement plot."

Kim blushed at the odd emphasis Dr. Director had placed on the word "thrust" while looking at Ron's... lower half, feeling silly and juvenile even as her cheeks crimsoned. "Okay," she repeated. "And?"

The image on screen zoomed in further, to Ron's lower right leg. "When we added these vectors," and they appeared on screen, resulting in a bewildering array of multicolored arrows, shadings, arcs, and lines that all but obscured the digital leg, "this is the result. Then we ran the simulation."

The perspective shifted back to the entire shower room. Ron walked into the room, then the motion stopped.

"Okay," Kim began, her brow furrowing. "He walked. So?"

"So he didn't slip!" Dr. Director announced proudly. Her eye gleamed as she stepped through the beam from the projector and pointed for emphasis. "We ran the results dozens of times. Double checked all the inputs, characteristics, and analyses. We fixed a score of minor flaws and miscalculations, included the friction effect from air molecules, calibrated moisture levels based on reflection and refraction, and even added variables for temperature and humidity, and every time we ran the simulation, our conclusions were confirmed."

"What conclusions?" Kim demanded.

The image of Ron entering the shower was overlain with the vector diagrams once more as Dr. Director fiddled with the controls. Ron began to move inch by inch into the room, the vectors shifting and morphing as he went to reflect the changes in position, musculature, and angle. He took his steps in, and then the playback paused.

"At precisely this point," Dr. Director informed Kim, "we reconciled the shifting forces, and found the anomaly." She began to breathe more deeply, as the force vectors wavered and shifted. "Our model was perfect, but it only proved the negative of our expectations.

"We ran the model dozens of times - improving it, tweaking it, making it closer and closer to the reality that was in the surveillance footage. We matched his respiration, pulse, blinking, shifts of weight... all of them corresponded precisely, we were able to perfectly recreate the video. Until Ronald reached _this_ point."

Kim watched as the vectors continued to blink out, until only Ron's leg was left, and one single arrow remained, pointing at a precise angle outward and down on the inside of his calf. "So what's that one?" she asked, as the force vector arrow began to blink on and off, but not disappear.

"When we were unable to match the model to the real, Dr. Williams had a brilliant idea; if we couldn't identify the discrepancy, we could at least quantify it. So we did. That is what that force vector is.

"We checked thermal, infrared, ultraviolet, sonic, acoustic, and even a number of esoteric radiation scans, and aside from a brief fluctuation in the electromagnetic field which was probably caused by someone turning on a light in the building, and which certainly wasn't causal, we could find absolutely nothing to explain the discrepancy. We finally came to one conclusion."

Dr. Director's eye glowed in the projector's light, and her face beamed with pride and satisfaction at being proved correct. "That, Kimberly Possible, is an unknown force that was applied to Ronald Stoppable's leg at precisely that instant, and was the _true_ cause of his slip and fall.

"The human leg - _Ronald's_ leg - does not move in the manner necessary to create the motion observed in the surveillance footage without an external stimulus; I can show you a close up of the muscles involved if you want - with or without the skin covering them; it's quite a fascinating process to watch. We can measure the force that was applied to his leg to make it move in this manner, we can quantify it, and we can reproduce it in our model to recreate the situation, but there is _nothing_ our scientists can find to explain this force, where it came from, or why it affected Ronald at just this moment.

"So," Dr. Director elaborated, "now that we had our Ron model built and our theory formulated, we went back to the other recordings of Ronald that we had in our archives. There are literally _dozens_ of similar occurrences - some touching Ronald directly, some the people around him, other times items near him, although this one is the clearest, and the least controversial thanks to his isolation, nudity, and insulation from other external factors because of his location.

"That," she proudly proclaimed, pointing triumphantly at the flashing vector that still pointed at the model of Ron's leg, "Kimberly, is the **Ron Factor.** It exists, and we've proved it." Her face glowed with excitement, pride, and satisfaction at that conclusion.

_"Well, on the plus side, it wasn't naked Ron that had her so excited,"_ Kim noted silently, staring at the arrow on the screen. _"That would have been majorly freaky - like me being a little excited about it isn't freaky enough."_ "Okay, so then what _is_ the Ron Factor?" Kim asked.

Dr. Director shrugged, her satisfaction visibly dimming. "That's... another question entirely. Unfortunately, we still don't know what exactly _it_ is, and nothing in our science can explain it."

**xxxXXXxxx**

  



	6. Ron Factor Found 2

**Notes: ** I hadn't intended to continue this one quite yet (way too many works in progress already), but thanks to my decision to scrap the next part of "The Shadow Over Middleton" to completely rewrite it, here's the next part of "Ron Factor Found" to tide folks over.

Summary: Kim tries to explain to Monique why she's looking at Ron differently.

**xxxXXXxxx**

Facing the Factor

Ron's hips were fluid, rocking back and forth and swaying to and fro as he moved. He all but danced towards the source of the appetizing aromas wafting through the lunchroom, weaving his way between tables and around the small knots of chatting students. From his position peeking out of Ron's pants pocket, Rufus rocked back and forth as he danced cheerfully along with Ron, chittering excitedly as they grew closer to the lunch line and the food it lead to.

The cafeteria wasn't very busy - because of the good weather (which inspired many to find alternate sources of nourishment), the irregularity of the quality of food served there (from the smell, today was one of the good days), and the earliness of the hour. This lack of a crowd combined with Kim's choice of seating position to create a very important result.

From her seat perched on a stool by a remote lunch table, Kim could watch Ron like a lioness as it hungrily eyed what it anticipated would soon be its prey. From her vantage at the back of the cafeteria, Kim enjoyed a perfect and unobstructed view of Ron - especially of the way his anatomy reacted as he bounced on the balls of his feet, impatiently waiting for the elderly lunch lady to serve up a meal to all the people ahead of him in line.

Unbeknownst to Kim, a small, predatory smile spread across her face as she watched him. Her eyes openly roved over Ron, lingering here and there (and especially _there_) as he moved - and some interesting parts of his anatomy that moved right along with him.

"Tell me I did not just see what I think I just saw."

Monique's voice, coming from close behind her, shocked Kim - so much so that she actually jumped nervously in her seat. Spinning atop her stool, she crossly demanded, "Monique! Don't startle me like that."

Monique raised an eyebrow and crossed her hands across her chest, tapping one foot as she stared down at her friend, trying to read her expression as she waited for an explanation. "Startle _you_?" she finally demanded when it was clear Kim wasn't about to talk. "What about me?" Leaning down, she put her mouth next to Kim's ear in order to whisper, "Tell me I did _not_ just see you checking out Ron's butt."

Kim blushed furiously as she turned away from her friend. Her silence spoke louder than words, and in conjunction with her blush, it also spoke volumes.

Monique's eyes widened... and widened... and widened... until she was gaping at the seated redhead incredulously, surprise obscuring every other emotion on her face. "You were?" she breathed in disbelief, more to herself than to Kim.

"It's not my fault," Kim immediately protested. "It's GJ's fault!" she insisted.

Monique waved her hands in midair in an abbreviated hushing motion as she glanced around to see if they had been overheard. When it was clear no one had, Monique immediately began to grill Kim. "Girl, chill. And spill. And I can't wait to hear you try to explain _that_ little comment."

Kim's cheeks grew rosy in embarrassment, while her hands began to make half-gestures that melted into different configurations before they could be fully formed or understood as she tried to explain herself. "I can't... stop thinking... I see Ron, and I can't help thinking about what's underneath. His clothes, I mean," she whispered, lowering her head in shame at the admission. "I've tried not to, but..."

One of Monique's eyebrows shot up in cautious disbelief. "That's it? Kim, the way that boy loses his pants, everyone's _already_ seen what's under there," she pointed out.

"I don't mean..." Kim began embarrassedly, then changed her tune mid-sentence. "I can't help it," she insisted. "It's his own fault. I mean, look at the way he's dressed!" Kim pointed at Ron with an accusatory finger. "It's so... provocative. Wearing an outfit like that... It's like he _wants_ people to check him out."

Turning, Monique eyed Ron as he was pushed further back in the lunch line by the sudden arrival of the basketball team. They cut to the front of the line, displacing even the poor freshman who had been reaching for a tray (Although "displacing" was perhaps an overly polite description for the event; a bluntly factual description would summarize it as being stuffed into a trash can). As Ron danced impatiently in place, muttering "come on, come on" to himself as he craned his neck to see the food that was abruptly so much further away, Monique considered his clothing. Her fashion sense had been honed by years of training in the halls of consumerism, and been refined even more while working at Club Banana. Ron stood no chance of eluding or confusing her critical analysis, even had he known it was being turned on him as he watched the lunch lady just as intently as Monique was watching him.

Ron's pants were... passable; his usual cargo pants, with the optional naked mole rat accessory peering from a side pocket. His T-shirt on the other hand, bright purple with a skull logo on the chest, surmounted by orange flames... Even though she recognized the video game, Monique still rated the shirt as a big fashion _don't_. The combination didn't coordinate well, even if it didn't _entirely_ clash. Neither article of clothing was anything she'd remotely describe as being provocative, and when paired, they were even less so.

Ron looked exactly like what he was: a young teen with bad eating habits and a taste for video games, which also contributed to his... physique. While Ron wasn't _exactly_ out of shape, he was hardly Mr. Olympia material either. Monique had to conclude Ron was pretty much the same as he ever was - which in turn implied that whatever was up, it was with Kim and not the "provocatively dressed" Ron Stoppable.

"You didn't get hit by any strange rays or get stuck in a weird machine of some kind on your last mission, did you?" Monique finally asked, turning away from the impatiently waiting boy, and back to face Kim.

"Monique!" Kim protested, glancing away from Ron to scowl briefly at her curious friend before her eyes returned to contemplating Ron.

"Just asking, just asking," Monique soothed. While Kim was still distracted by the Mad Dog, she reached out and began to run her fingers gently over the back of Kim's neck, tracing the arch of her spine from where it met her skull beneath the flame of her hair all the way down into the top of her midriff baring pink T- shirt - and as far down into the top as her widespread fingers could reach, stretching down and sweeping across the smooth expanse of Kim's upper back.

"It's not a Moodulator thing either," Kim protested grumpily, but she didn't move or protest further until after Monique had assured herself that Kim was truly Moodulator-free and had stepped away from her. "And you should ask before touching somebody like that," she asserted.

"I'll remember to let Ron know," Monique smirked. "Girl, I don't care who's fault it is; yours, his, GJ's, or anyone else. To me, it just looks like you've got it bad for our Mr. Stoppable."

Groaning, Kim buried her face in the nest of her arms atop the lunch table. "You're so not helping here, Mon."

"So what's the sitch?" Monique shrugged, sliding onto the stool next to Kim's. She rested one hand comfortingly on Kim's shoulder as she asked, "What's got you jonesing so bad for Ron? And why is it GJ's fault?"

Kim sighed in defeat, before lifting her face from the cradle of her arms and beginning to explain. "I told you about the Ron Factor thing, right?"

Monique shrugged. "Sure. Best laugh I had in weeks. That was over a year ago, though. So what?"

"GJ - specifically, Dr. Director, Global Justice's head - showed me some surveillance footage they shot of Ron," Kim answered slowly. "And I saw..." she trailed off, flushing.

"You saw...?" Monique prompted, her voice lilting leadingly.

"Everything," Kim whispered under her breath, the syllables laden with all the confusing emotions the word inspired in her breast. "In full color and larger than life."

"The Full Ronnie?"

"Yes!" Kim snapped back, her eyes automatically seeking out Ron again as she flushed. "All of it. From every angle."

"Interesting. Maybe I should take him out for a test drive if just the sight of him is enough to get you this hot and bothered," Monique smirked, eyeing Ron curiously while tapping one finger against the side of her cheek, trying to see the attraction he held.

Kim's head spun to confront her friend swiftly enough to inspire fears of whiplash. "Monique!" she protested.

"I'm just joshing," she soothed in return. "I just don't understand why this is such a big deal for you," Monique admitted. "You've seen it all before, haven't you?"

"When we were six!" Kim protested, then stammered as she tried to defend herself. "And it's not... just... seeing... _that_. Well, he does have this adorable little dimple that I didn't know about, and it's..."

"_Way_ too much info, girl," Monique half-raised her hands in case she would need to cover her ears.

"It's... Look, I knew he was a guy already. Sort of."

"After the brain switch thing? I'd hope you already knew it. And seen it. And touched it. Either that, or you've got _amazing_ bladder control; I already know the Mad Dog doesn't. Worst basketball experience _ever_," she shuddered.

"But that was me as a guy, not Ron as a guy," Kim protested, flushing at the memory. "That's totally different."

"You _were_ in Ron's body," Monique pointed out. "And he _was_ in yours."

"It was just different, okay?" she insisted. "Ron still wasn't really a guy. Just... Ron."

"What about the Moodulator? I've got a sheet of notebook paper with your name - your _married_ name - all over it that says differently."

"You kept that?" Kim blinked, remembering dreamily writing variations on "Mrs. Kimberly Anne Stoppable" over and over, with a little heart above every "i" and an occasional smiley face in the "o's". _"I thought I threw that paper away."_ After a moment, she shook her head. "Never mind. Look, the point is... Now that I think of Ron as a guy, I can't help... thinking about... you know... everything he and I have done together," she stammered, not meeting Monique's eyes.

Monique's eyes widened even further than they'd been moments before as she reached a shocking conclusion. "You? And Ron? And you didn't _tell_ me?" she demanded. "Details... Now!" she ordered, sliding forward onto the edge of her seat and seizing Kim's hands so that she couldn't flee. "Just not... you know, _certain_ details," she added, wincing at the thought.

Kim's eyes widened to match Monique's as she realized what her friend was thinking. "No! No! I don't mean like that!" she insisted in a fierce whisper, trying to calm Monique down, and stave off the misunderstanding, staring into her eyes as she prayed Monique would listen. "I just mean like missions and things... and all the little things we've done together, and... and... him being a guy... and me a girl, and... and... what it means, and..."

Scowling, Monique didn't know whether to feel relieved or disappointed at the relatively innocent truth. "I get it. Ron's a boy. You're a girl. And you've suddenly realized that a boy who usually can't even be bothered to do his homework is perfectly willing to jump out of airplanes and climb mountains _for you_ while confronting villains and freaks that the police have trouble with. And it's making you warm for his form."

Kim's eyes widened as she realized the element of truth that lay in Monique's words. Blushing, Kim turned away so she wouldn't have to meet Monique's eyes. "I... hadn't quite gotten to that third thing yet," she confessed. "I was stuck on points one and two, with a little of point four."

The Kimmunicator's beeping saved Kim from having to explain herself further. "Go, Wade."

"Hi, Kim," Wade began, then stopped as his image leaned closer to the display. "Why are you so red?"

"She's freaking out because of the Ron Factor," Monique responded, giving a little wave at the youth's image on the display monitor.

"Oh, hi, Monique," Wade waved back at the older teen. "And I'm not surprised. It's amazing stuff. If I hadn't seen it for myself, I wouldn't have believed it."

_"I've already jumped to conclusions once in this conversation,"_ Monique reminded herself as she swallowed her immediate reaction. "I can't wait to hear your explanation for that comment," she repeated, feeling a sense of deja vu.

"You checked the math?" Kim asked before Wade could respond to Monique's question.

"Twice," Wade shrugged as he answered Kim. "I'm way beyond impressed. They've got an amazing amount of data on Ron - pentabytes of it - and have accounted for things that even I wouldn't have bothered with. This goes beyond chaos theory - maybe even quantum mechanics. The closest thing I could find to explain it is quantum tunneling, but the math doesn't hold - but then you wouldn't expect it to work for macro situations anyway."

"And...?" Kim prodded.

"And they were right," he reluctantly admitted. "There's definitely something there. And I can't explain what _it_ is any more than GJ could."

Monique glanced back and forth between Kim and the Kimmunicator. "What are you guys talking about?"

"You said it yourself; the Ron Factor. Weird stuff happens around Ron and to Ron, and there's no scientific explanation for it," Wade explained.

"And this is news because?" Monique shrugged dismissively, disappointed by the "revelation." "I could have told you _that_ months ago."

"When I say 'no scientific explanation,'" Wade clarified, "I mean that literally. It simply can't happen. It's impossible by every known scientific principle. But it does. You can quantify what happens, but it's like whatever happens exists in a vacuum. It just... happens. And the only commonality is Ron."

A wicked smirk briefly appeared on Kim's face, then vanished. "Wade, can you make me a holo-Ron?" Kim asked innocently. "I could show Monique _exactly_ what we're talking about."

"Sure thing; there's plenty on the GJ server to work from. They've got more than enough data - psych reports, history, surveillance video, school records, genetic studies - we're practically talking the Ron Genome Project. With all that available to work from, a holo-Ron will be a snap. Want me to program it to give the GJ demo?" Wade answered, sipping from a disposable cup.

"Please and thank you," Kim smirked as Monique blanched.

Kim giggled as Monique's expression changed nearly as rapidly as her hands moved trying to form a gesture emphatic enough to express her disagreement and disapproval of the plan. "I'll show her in the girls' locker room, so make the emitter independent of the Kimmunicator and portable please," she instructed, a devious glint entering her eye. "We wouldn't want to violate anyone _else's_ privacy - even if they sign a waiver."

"No problem. I'll have it ready in a couple of days," Wade answered offhandedly as he began typing up notes on what he'd need to do to fulfil Kim's request. "You know, a holo-Ron might be useful on missions," he thought aloud. "The holo-Kim certainly worked well against Monkey Fist, and I bet I could make a much better one now than the one I did back then. The state of my art..."

He interlocked his fingers and cracked his knuckles before wiggling his fingers over his keyboard. "A working holo-Team Possible..." his eyes glittered with excitement at the possibilities. "I love a challenge."

Monique blushed as she watched Ron finally reach the front of the line and collect a tray. She hoped Kim was joking about "showing" her, but after all the teasing, who could tell? _"Wade certainly seems to be getting into the spirit of things, too."_

"Have you told Ron any of this yet?" Wade asked, after he'd completed taking notes for the new design project.

"Not yet," Kim admitted. "I'm still trying to wrap my mind around the concept."

"Okay," Wade shrugged. "I'd still tell him before GJ does, though - it'll sound better coming from you. Oh, and next time you see your dad? See if he can tell you anything about a 'Project R.F.E.S.' at the space center. I found some money transfers - a _lot_ of money transfers - tied to a project by that name in GJ's Ron Factor data, but there wasn't any information about what it was for, or what the project's about."

_"RFES? Ar. Eff. Eee. Ess. Ar-fez? Rifes? Roughs? Roof- ees?"_ she mentally sounded out the acronym, then blinked in startled realization. _"Rufus?"_ "Will do," Kim agreed thoughtfully.

"Where? I don't see him," Ron asked as he glanced around the cafeteria before sitting across the table from Kim and Monique.

"Will's not here, Ron," Kim replied, blushing as she watched him throw his head back and lower a long strand of spaghetti slowly into his mouth. He licked his lips lingeringly with his tongue to gather up the traces of sauce that had been left behind after he'd slurped the last of it.

Kim found the play of muscles in Ron's neck and face - and tongue - as he ate to be enthralling; she remembered the look on Dr. Director's face as Ron walked in the movie. Every tiny muscle, every motion, every movement he made all mapped, quantified, analyzed, and defined - she'd been almost rapturous at the thoroughness of the data, and Kim was beginning to understand how Dr. Director had felt - although she hoped it was for different reasons.

_"He's so free and uninhibited around me; even if he can be gross sometimes... I like it,"_ she admitted to herself silently. _"But is Monique right about him and me, too?"_ she wondered. _"Does he feel... like..."_

"Kim?" Ron blinked as he noticed Kim's dazed look. "You okay?"

Monique watched Kim stare at Ron's face, and slowly raised an eyebrow as Kim continued to stare, enraptured by his features and her thoughts. "She's just overwhelmed by your Ron-itude, dimple boy," Monique smirked, determined to get her digs in before Kim could extract any revenge.

"I haven't been called that one before," Ron blinked in surprise. "Usually it's 'potential boy,' or sometimes 'freckle boy.'" He shrugged in dismissal of the matter. "Hi, Wade," he abruptly added when he noticed the active Kimmunicator.

"Hi yourself, brain switch boy."

"Or that one," Ron nodded his agreement. "What up?"

"Not much; I'm just working on something for Kim. I'll let her explain it," Wade answered.

Ron grinned as he set Rufus beside his tray and watched him dig in, slurping up some pasta and rubbing his belly in satisfaction. "Sounds good. We have a mission?"

"Not exactly. Later, Kim," Wade grinned as Kim blinked, breaking off her study of Ron's face, as he closed the connection, causing the video screen on the Kimmunicator to wink out.

**xxxXXXxxx**


	7. Shadow Over Middleton Alt&Del'd scenes

**Rejected scenes from "The Shadow Over Middleton"**

**Warning: Spoilers for Chapter 10 of "The Shadow over Middleton." Don't read this until you've read that chapter, or unless you don't care about potential spoilers.**

**Author's Notes:** Chapter 10 was probably the hardest chapter to write of all of TSOM to date; there are a couple of key ideas and concepts that needed to be gotten across, but it also contains an awful lot of dialogue, and is ultimately a side note to the main plot thread. And, silly me, when I was plotting out the story, that section was described only as "Ron in cage examined by GJ" - with everything else about it left blank and to be filled in as needed. Oy... I didn't know what I was getting myself into.

When I scrapped the first draft, it was approximately 30 pages, single spaced, in my word processor. The second draft, which I cannibalized and used to provide the flashback sections in the final draft, was at around 32 pages when I realized it wasn't working either - very, very talky. Which is sort of inevitable given the information that needs to be imparted if you're following the events linearly - which is how I write most of my stuff. The final tally was 26 pages, with about 14 of those cannibalized and modified to reflect the different structure (flashback format) to comprise the final one.

These are some of the scenes and such that almost made it into the final version, or earlier versions of scenes that did get included. They are not "official" for the storyline or anything, nor do they really contain spoilers for the story beyond anything that's already in the "official" chapter 10, but considering the amount of time and effort I put into the multiple versions of this chapter, I didn't want them to go entirely to waste. In any case, each is followed by a brief note, either explaining why it was cut, what was different from what it ended up being, or something else about it.

Even though these aren't as polished as the final releases, hopefully you'll enjoy them anyway.

* * *

xxxXXXxxx

Segment 1: Ron's captivity

First draft: The Cube

Version B - Twos

As they walked, Kim blinked madly while her eyes recovered from the dazzling glare. After a few moments, Kim abruptly realized they were approaching the center of the giant hanger that the hoverjet had entered. And as they neared, the sheer scale of the operation became apparent.

Harsh white light filled the center of the hanger, the radiance coming from more arc lights of the kind that had blinded and disoriented Kim and Ron when they had disembarked from the jet. Diffusers were mounted on most of the lamps, so the light was brilliant and all-illuminating, but not truly blinding - unless you looked directly into the undiffused lamps.

In the center of the hanger, bathed by a full dozen undiffused lights, a huge, transparent half-cube (the height was approximately half the length and width of the structure) was the focus of the activity. No reinforcement could be seen at the seams of the cube, nor could Kim guess the thickness of the walls, but it held an impression of stability, durability, and impenetrability, despite a degree of transparency that made it all but invisible even in the harsh glare of the lights. A metal box rested atop the center of the cube, and a number of pipes, conduits, and wires were tied into the walls at various spots.

The cube structure was flanked on two of the sides by parked GJ hoverjets. The planes' cargo doors were braced open, and a yellow glow from an unknown source inside each bathed the area immediately surrounding the jets in a pool of yellow light, despite the white radiance of the arc lamps.

Wires, cables, and conduits snaked everywhere, leading from inside the aircraft and from what Kim thought must be portable generators to arrays of computers, sensors, lights, speakers, transmitters, receivers, cameras, and a host of other machines of unknown purpose, as well as back forth between the machines. The machines were organized into scattered pockets of activity around the enclosure, each with its own group of attendants and technicians, the pockets in turn forming a ring surrounding the cube, with the parked hoverjets anchoring the circle. An inner ring, near the actual walls of the half-cube, consisting of cameras, sensors, and microphones promised complete coverage of everything that happened inside the enclosure.

Armed GJ agents stood watch from behind the ring of activity around the central structure, and formed the exclusive population of an outer ring beyond the machinery. They carried a variety of weapons including the same shock sticks that the guards outside the hanger had carried, rifles or sidearms of every description from conventional projectile weapons (such as the Walther that rested in Dr. Director's shoulder holster) to more advanced devices that Kim recognized as being lasers, blasters, and stunners. A few even carried things that looked like crystal tipped wands and devices that looked like a fusion of a blaster with a parabolic dish that defied identification as to the exact function or capability.

Although there were a number of guards, the sheer number of scientists working in the area made the armed agents' numbers minuscule by comparison. Some Kim recognized from the Ron Factor fiasco, but the majority were unknown to her - and the sheer quantity of them was mind-boggling. They milled about, some servicing the machines, while others worked at unknown and probably incomprehensible tasks.

The small army of men and women - scientists and guards alike - created a tense and expectant air in the hanger. They watched the central cube with tense, but eager eyes.

"What's going on?" Kim repeated, her feet halting as she tried to make sense of the colossal undertaking. It was frankly astounding the effort and attention to detail that must have been involved in setting up an operation of this scale - and it had all been done in an aircraft hanger at the Middleton airport, not a more permanent facility.

xxxXXXxxx

Version A - Threes

xxxXXXxxx

Harsh white light filled the center of the hanger, the radiance coming from more arc lights of the kind that had blinded and disoriented Kim and Ron when they had disembarked from the jet. Diffusers were mounted on most of the lamps, so the light was brilliant and all-illuminating, but not truly blinding.

In the center of the hanger, bathed by a full dozen of the undiffused lights, a huge, transparent half-cube (the height was approximately half the length and width of the structure) was the focus of the activity. No reinforcement could be seen at the seams, nor could Kim guess the thickness of the walls, but it held an impression of stability, durability, and impenetrability, despite the transparency that made it all but invisible.

The cube structure was surrounded on three sides by parked GJ hoverjets. The aircrafts' cargo doors were braced open, and a yellow glow from an unknown source inside each bathed the area surrounding the jets in a pool of yellow light, despite the harsh white radiance of the arc lamps.

Wires, cables, and conduits snaked everywhere, leading from inside the aircraft and from what Kim thought must be portable generators to arrays of computers, sensors, lights, speakers, transmitters, receivers, cameras, and a host of other machines of unknown purpose, as well as back forth between them. The machines lay in scattered pockets of activity around the enclosure, the pockets in turn arranged into three distinct rings surrounding the cube.

Each discrete island of activity had its own group of attendants. While pockets within a given ring occasionally exchanged personnel, the rings remained discrete, with movement restricted to moving back and forth within a ring without leaving it.

xxxXXXxxx

**Notes:** A whole lot of effort and labor, and it was just too complicated and cumbersome. The original version is the one with 3 jets, and 3 rings of equipment. Why are they included in reverse order? Frankly the second polishing flows better, so there's more of that version here, with just the major difference included of the real initial draft for comparison.

Another reason it was simplified is that the armament listed might have created the wrong impression. GJ is the bastion of science; the wands and weird gizmos are more along the lines of the experimental weapons in Godzilla movies - a lightning rod (so to speak) and a heat ray, rather than anything to do with magic. So, rather than potentially confuse the issue, it was cut as well.

Based on the complexity of the setting, you can probably get a fair idea of why the first draft went on _much_ too long.

xxxXXXxxx

Segment 2: WEE in Turmoil

"The Worldwide Evil Empire has had a very bad day," Dr. Director explained, as she came to a stop beside Kim. "After the destruction of their undersea lair, and thanks to the Navy's rapid interdiction of the area for search and rescue operations, we managed to capture nearly the entire lair's staff, as well as a pair of rescue vessels that had been dispatched by WEE to recover the survivors.

"After following the registration back trail of the captured ships, interviewing the prisoners, and tracing serial numbers from both the recovered escape pods and debris from the destroyed lair, we were then able to trace WEE's funding and procurement process back through a number of very highly placed and almost undetectable facilitators and financiers - upper level personnel in the evil organization, in other words. We also found a number of bank accounts that we were able to get frozen almost immediately.

"This is, quite literally," she explained, "a once in a lifetime opportunity. One that is nearly unprecedented in the annals of law enforcement: taking down a criminal terroristic organization entirely, root and branch alike. If we're lucky," she continued, "WEE will be dealt a death blow. Even if it somehow manages to survive, it will have received a serious setback - and major funding problems - that will impair its ability to operate for years to come."

"That's great," Kim enthused, and meant it. "But what does that have to do with Ron?" she demanded.

"Regardless of my... personal feelings on the subject," Dr. Director explained coldly, "I must concede that Sheldon is rarely completely stupid. Either we have gotten very, very lucky - meaning no criticism of either yourself or anyone else involved in this operation, you understand - or this is... something else entirely.

"Global Justice is frankly overextended at the moment as we take advantage of this opportunity. We're snapping up every part of WEE's organization that we can, as quickly as we can. We have to act quickly before they can go underground - and they will, when the scope of what's happening and what we're accomplishing becomes clear."

Kim glanced around the hanger, and took in the numbers of the personnel, and the array of mechanical devices set up inside the hanger. "If you're overextended, then...?" she began, then gestured vaguely towards the hum of activity, seeking an answer.

"This operation is to prevent the 'something else,'" Dr. Director explained. "Sheldon's motives are personal, and vicious, and he would think nothing of sacrificing nearly _everything_ if it also served to achieve his goals. He cares nothing for his underlings, seeing them as mere tools to use and discard after they've served his purposes."

"So the fact that you're dismantling his empire... is a bad thing?" Kim asked curiously.

"It is if it was sacrificed as a diversion to keep us occupied instead of interfering with his real plan," Dr. Director admitted. "Not that we won't reap some rewards from the operation even if it is only a distraction - which is why we can't and won't ignore the opportunity we've been handed."

"But what plan could he possibly have that would justify... this?" Kim asked incredulously. "Without henchmen, or money, or... or... an organization to control, what kind of a plan could it be?"

xxxXXXxxx

**Notes:** Some of this entered the final draft - in greatly reduced form. Again, it was too much on something that was ultimately irrelevant to the main plot. While the subplot of WEE needed closure, this was a bit too definitive. Not to mention the small matter that if they were this overstretched, the operation in Middleton was just way too big to justify when they could simply "disappear" the putative Ron and stick him in a cage for later while they were dealing with WEE. There _was_ going to be a justification for the size of the operation, but it might have been too big of a hint of a major plot point that will be coming later. Plus, from a purely objective perspective, it just felt a bit too X-Files-ish - and in a cheesy way.

xxxXXXxxx

Segment 3: Dr. Director's Threats

When Ron had regained control of his stomach, and had carried Rufus away from the remnants of his illness, the GJ operation limped slowly into action, the planning and anticipation having not foreseen Ron's volatile and dramatic reentry into the chamber. As the scientists regained their composure, Dr. Director walked up to the outer wall of the cube and explained, "Hello, Ronald. I regret the necessity, but as I've already explained to Kim, we need to verify your identity."

Ron still looked pale and sickly as he approached the wall near her. Leaning his forehead against the inner wall of the cube, he whined, "I don't care. I feel awful. I just want to go home."

Dr. Director glanced over her shoulder, and saw that Kim was distracted by a thermal image of Ron that was being displayed on a monitor, and seized the opportunity. "Approximately eight hours ago," she informed Ron, "I had to tell your parents that you were, in all likelihood, _dead_, and your body was unrecoverable on the bottom of the ocean."

Ron's eyes widened in shock and horror, her words washing everything - even thoughts of his roiling stomach - from his mind. "What?"

"I will not put the Stoppables through the torment of thinking their son has returned, only to face the heartbreak of learning that it was just a synthodrone or a clone pretending to be their son," she relentlessly continued, as Ron's face blanched whiter and whiter. "Cooperate, and it will be a quick, and relatively painless process. Refuse to cooperate, and we will still verify your identity - I owe the Stoppables the chance of Ron's survival, at least - but it will be much more lingering and far from painless."

"My mom must be going crazy," Ron whispered, his eyes tearing up as he pictured the scene. "Dad..." He blinked, but his eyes remained wild as he ran the hand unburdened by Rufus' limp weight through his hair, disordering it further. "Just do what you have to do," he ordered.

"Very good," Dr. Director responded, ignoring the undertones of Ron's agreement. "First, remove the jumpsuit, and place Rufus, your jumpsuit, and the Kimmunicator in the drawer immediately to your right."

Ron blinked, and found the transparent handle that was nearly invisible on the wall. "I'm not wearing anything other than the jumpsuit," he protested.

"I'm aware of that," Dr. Director informed him bluntly.

"Aw, man," Ron looked like he wanted to protest further as he looked around at all the people in the hanger, but the thought of his parents thinking he was dead loomed heavier than his limited modesty. He pulled on the handle, and a hatch opened, revealing a sealed compartment located inside the wall of the cube.

He gently placed the limp body of his naked mole rat inside the compartment, then put the Kimmunicator next to him. As Ron released the handle to reach for the zipper of the jumpsuit, the door to the compartment swung shut. Rufus and the Kimmunicator immediately sank through the wall, dropping out of sight below the level of the floor.

"Rufus!" Ron screamed in protest.

"He's fine," Dr. Director coldly informed him. "Once he's been checked out by a veterinary expert, he'll be released into Kim's custody. Now strip," she ordered.

Ron scowled thunderously, but Dr. Director had too much leverage on him to even argue the matter - his parents, Kim, and now even Rufus. He stripped off the jumpsuit, and without a word, shoved it into the opening. As soon as the door had shut, the jumpsuit too, sank into the floor.

He covered himself with his hands as he stood naked near the wall of the enclosure, the harsh light revealing every line of his body, every bruise and scratch on his skin, and the yellowish stain Rufus had left streaked across his shoulder. "Done," he announced unnecessarily.

"Very good," Dr. Director informed him, unaffected by both his nudity and his obvious disapproval of the process. "You will be given a number of instructions by GJ scientists, and you will obey them all without question."

Ron winced, and as he shifted his feet, his muscles shifted beneath his skin, the edges and the motion brought into stark highlight by the lights. "I understand."

"Good," Dr. Director waved a waiting scientist forward to begin the process as she walked away from the enclosure.

"Now Ronald," the scientist informed him, "there is a shower head located in the ceiling in the far left corner. Please go..." the quiet instructions faded to inaudibility as Dr. Director retreated and Kim stomped along in her wake, her expression a mask of sheer rage.

When she was beyond the ring of scientists, Dr. Director turned and allowed Kim to catch up. "You know why I have to do this," she informed the angry teen.

"Of course I do. That doesn't mean I have to like it. Or agree with it," Kim retorted. "But the way you were talking, you made it sound like _I_ wanted this, too."

"Naturally. And Ronald will be more obedient because of it - whether he is who we think he is, or he isn't."

Kim blinked. "If he's Ron, he'll obey because of me, and if he isn't, he will because Ron would have?"

Dr. Director nodded, and picked up a folder from a nearby console and handed it to Kim. "Here's the arrest report. You'll find it... interesting reading. Now come along. The process is just getting started, but some results should already be available."

xxxXXXxxx

**Notes:** Dr. Director is much more cold-blooded and threatening than her "devil's advocate" role in the final draft, and Ron's family was informed of his probable death - which also didn't make the final cut (they know he was missing, but that's a much less dire - and probably more normal, for them - condition). Kim's anger is also replaced with a wary uncertainty based on GJ's sneaky modus operandi. The original chapter title was going to be "Rage in the cage" but following the 3rd rewrite, and the reduction in hostility, it was no longer suitable, and I chose a more meaningful one to replace it.

You might also note a certain parallelism between some elements of this story and some of the other released chapters in "The Shape of Things Yet to Come." Since I work on unrelated stories in between polishing passes to give myself fresher eyes for editing, there's a certain amount of cross-pollination between stories that inevitably takes place. Which is also one of the reasons why some sentences, turns of phrase, etc. show up in several places.

xxxXXXxxx

Segment 4: Analysis Begins

Dr. Director led Kim to the ring of research stations, and while at the first few, the scientists were too distracted and enmeshed in their work to react to their presence, they found some willing and able to answer as they proceeded around the ring.

"Dr. Williams?" Dr. Director asked. "Are you ready?"

At his nod, she explained to Kim, "When Ron was found, he was covered in an unknown and foul smelling substance. Dr. Williams has been analyzing it." Turning back to the scientist, as Kim flipped through the report trying to find the part referring to the substance, she asked, "Your findings?"

"It's organic," he answered, looking away from the eyepieces of his microscope. "Amino acids, proteins, some esters - which are the source of the smell - some long chain molecules - the closest analogue I can think of for those are the excretions of some deep cave fungi. It's what gives the fluid it's... mucilaginous texture."

Kim blinked, "He was covered in _snot_?"

"A substance with a mucous-like texture," Dr. Williams clarified.

"Is it mucous? Syntho-goo?" Dr. Director asked. "Something similar?"

"It's neither of those. Similar? Well, all three substances are organic, so they do share certain characteristics, and atomic elements in their composition and such, but this appears to be unrelated to either beyond those basic levels. As to what it is? I don't have the foggiest."

"Could it be waste product from a cloning experiment?" Dr. Director asked.

"I doubt it," Williams mused thoughtfully, "there's no genetic material in the sample, and it doesn't conform to any of the components or remainders from any of the cloning procedures I've ever heard of - in either the reputable or disreputable ones."

"Thank you doctor," Dr. Director nodded. "Forward the report to my attention when your analysis is complete, or page me if your findings are radically altered." She led Kim away, steering her with one hand on the teens arm as she tried to read the section describing the material.

Dr. Director led Kim to the next station, where Dr. Michaels was examining the remains of Ron's mission shirt with an illuminated magnifying glass.

xxxXXXxxx

**Notes:** You should have an inkling of the justification for the ring structure now; each node in the rings working on a different piece of evidence or theory, each ring working on a different aspect of the case, and Dr. Director leading Kim around all of them collecting the evidence, and making a determination. It just would have gone on much too long since I wasn't even half way around the first ring when I halted the first draft.

xxxXXXxxx

Segment 5: Ron's Explosive Entry

Inside the enclosure, the floor abruptly opened up and Ron rocketed out of the floor, looking distinctly green as he was ejected from the transport system. It looked especially nauseating compared to the orange of his jumpsuit.

"Uh oh," Kim winced, covering her eyes with one hand.

Ron's jumpsuit made his body's arc through the air plainly visible inside the "cube." The spray that erupted in front of him was not orange, but was no less visible as it splattered across one transparent wall of the box. He landed in an ungainly heap at the base of the now noisome wall, heaving and gasping as he struggled to regain his breath while his body struggled at the same time to eject anything and everything else it could find in his empty stomach.

Perhaps even worse than the sight was the sound. Hidden microphones designed to catch every whisper within the cube for ease of interrogation recorded everything, while the banks of speakers that surrounded the GJ operation magnified and broadcast every liquid heave and every panting gasp Ron made for all to hear.

"Prone to motion-sickness," Dr. Director noted as her lips curled in distaste at a particularly gruesome hacking groan. "I'll add a notation to his file."

Even though she had been anticipating the result, and had missed the full glory of the event by averting her eyes, Kim still sounded nauseated as she remarked, "You think?"

A sudden chittering from the speakers reminded Kim that Rufus was in there with Ron, too. Ron made a sound that merged a cough and a laugh at Rufus' comment, and held his roiling stomach with both hands as he tried to quell his nausea. "Good one... But don't make me laugh, Rufus, please," Ron's anguished whisper pleaded.

"What did Rufus say?" Dr. Director asked, "Can you understand him?"

Kim laughed, shaking her head in rueful humor. "Any more I can understand Rufus most of the time - a lot more than I used to. I definitely got this one. He said, 'Smell my stink spray.'"

Dr. Director blinked in confusion, not understanding the reference.

"It's from 'the Fearless Ferret'?" Kim tried to explain. "The wicked White Stripe?"

Curled up in misery on the floor of the enclosure, Ron chuckled through his disgust as he coughed and hacked, trying to get the taste of bile out of his mouth. "Fear not, my furless friend. While we were winded and wounded with wily White Stripe's wicked and woeful weapon, we will..." A renewed bout of heaving brought his oration to a halt

As he knelt, heaving as his empty stomach knotted and roiled, a pink blob erupted from the top of his jumpsuit. Rufus uncoiled, and added his own contribution to the thoroughly befouled wall.

"Lovely," Dr. Director murmured distractedly. She turned to a nearby scientist and instructed, "Pass the word; watch for cross contamination from the naked mole rat."

xxxXXXxxx

**Notes:** This one's probably the closest to the final draft, barring the change in prison setting. It's a tinge more gruesome in a few spots however.

xxxXXXxxx

Segment 6: Dr. Smith

"Are you ready, Kimberly?" Dr. Director asked.

"I guess," Kim admitted, rising to her feet and stretching before following her away from her isolated chair.

A hitch momentarily entered Kim's step as she noticed a red- haired woman in a lab coat talking quietly with Ron - the only one still close to him. _"Mom?"_ she wondered briefly.

As the woman glanced over her shoulder though, Kim realized that she didn't know her, and that the resemblance was coincidental. _"Or not,"_ Kim's eyes narrowed as she realized the woman's hair color was too uniform to be natural; her appearance had been altered to appear closer to Kim's. _"They don't miss a trick, do they?"_ she scowled in irritation.

"Don't worry," Dr. Director soothed, seeing Kim's steps falter, but misinterpreting the reason. She held one of Kim's arms and guided her towards a conference table somewhat removed from the circle that delimited Ron's freedom - and well away from the woman currently talking to him. "Let the GJ scientists do most of the presentation. However, if you disagree with their conclusions, or can expand on one of the points they bring up, or can clarify an issue, please speak up."

**Later...**

Dr. Smith walked up to the table as Dr. Director was recovering her composure. "Is this a bad time?" she asked as she claimed the last vacant seat.

"Not at all," Dr. Director answered. "We've been eagerly awaiting your report."

Smith pulled the red wig from her head, revealing the short cropped blonde hair beneath. She ran her hands through the scant locks, fluffing them, then sighed. "When I read the psych profile, I didn't believe a word of it. I'm frankly astounded it was completely accurate. But that's neither here nor there."

xxxXXXxxx

**Notes:** Dr. Smith is the psych professional who examines Ron, and she was added starting with the second draft. She's dressed and made up to resemble both Kim and her mother in order to further play on Ron's subconscious trust and willingness to talk; this isn't as explicitly spelled out in the final, but the hints that this is the case are there. She's still in the final draft, but not nearly as much, and this was originally her introduction.

xxxXXXxxx

Segment 7: Late Night Monologue

**

xxxXXXxxx

**

**Initial Notes: ** This doesn't really fit the mood of TSOM (even the lighter parts), so I won't be able to include it in the actual work, so just think of this as a side story. The setting is part of the opening monologue of a late night talk show after news leaks out of Ron's recovery; you can cast it as whichever late night host or show you prefer. Bear in mind, I'm not a comedian, but the celebrity name dropping in the jokes should be right in line with jokes used on any of the network shows; I sort of rattled these off in another window while working on TSOM somewhat late at night as lack of sleep started getting to me.

**

xxxXXXxxx

**

The late night talk show host smiled across at his band leader, then rose to his tiptoes as he announced, "In other news, there's been a happy ending to the search in the South Pacific; John Stropgable - sidekick to teen heroine Kim Possible - has been found."

He paused for the cheers and applause that greeted the good news, then continued, "True story - I kid you not; he was discovered later that same day passed out on a beach... without any pants." He let that information sink in, raising one hand in a "halt" motion as the audience reacted with a mix of surprise and good humor to the news. He waited another tick, then added, "Sounds more like my honeymoon than crime fighting."

"Ba dum bum," he chortled as a quick rimshot came from the drummer. He grinned over the audience's laughter.

"All kidding aside, we're all very glad for his safe recovery." He paused and clapped a few times, and the audience eagerly joined in. "I'm not sure if you'll have heard this yet - but when he was found, he was arrested for indecent exposure, lewd conduct, and suspicion of public intoxication." He counted off each charge into one hand, then held up a finger as a mixed reaction came from the audience. "Feel free to insert your own joke here about Billy Joel or the Kennedy compound," he instructed to a few titters.

After a beat, he continued. "Any-who, the police didn't recognize him, and he wasn't carrying any ID. Hard to believe from a guy without pants, right?"

After the laughter, he continued, "Now, we managed to get a copy of John's booking photo; Bill, can we see that please?"

Ron's mug shot was displayed on the studio monitors so the studio audience could see it, and it was broadcast to the home viewers as well. In it, Ron was visibly listing to one side, his hair was utterly disheveled, and his eyes were staring vaguely and glassily somewhere over the camera. He was holding a steel-framed black matte card listing his arrest number and "Doe, John #234" in block white letters. A hint of drool was pooling in one corner of his mouth as his jaw hung slackly.

As the titters and hastily muffled laughter rose again, the host raised his hand again, and gently shook one finger. "Now, now, I know what you're thinking. 'Who could ever believe that a guy looking like this wasn't wearing pants when he got arrested?'"

He paused as the laughter continued, then made a segue. "In other news, Michael Jackson held a press conference to announce his pleasure at John's safe rescue." He held up his finger again as some anticipatory groans came from the audience. "Wait for it..." He grinned devilishly as a few chuckles replaced the groans. "He's pleased because John has displaced him from his number 3 spot on the 'Most Embarrassing Celebrity Mug Shot' list."

A split-screen overlay displayed Jackson's Santa Barbara County Sheriff's Department mug shot beside Ron's on the monitors. After the laughs faded away, the host continued, "John was, however, unable to displace the reigning champions on the list, Paul 'Pee-wee' Reubens, and Nick Nolte." The two named mug shots replaced the other two on the monitors.

Amid the laughter, the host flashed a thumbs up as he concluded, "All I can say is nice job for a first attempt, son. Better luck next time; I know you'll be able to make it to number one if you keep trying."

"We have a great show for you tonight... Our guests are..."

Fade to Black 

**XXXxxxXXX**

**Notes: ** While writing Ron's booking scene (and later, while writing the GJ interrogation, because it was so dry and factual), I kept flashing to the inevitable jokes that would be made about Ron's mug shot, given his predictable pattern of rapid rise and equally rapid fall - and since word leaked out of what he had done (saving Kim), the coming fall is all but inevitable. All three of the other referenced mug shots are still readily available on the internet if you're interested in viewing them, but I must confess that I'd love to see an artist's version of Ron's mug shot based on the descriptions if anyone's feeling especially artistically inclined. You'll see a bit of this in a later part, but in general that's about all that will be needed.

xxxXXXxxx

Segment 8: Dr. Director's Suspicions

**

xxxXXXxxx

**

Version A - Assassin

Kim blinked. "What does that have to do with..." she suddenly halted as the light began to dawn. "Ron."

"Precisely. Still flushed from victory, having dismantled WEE, a heroic survivor feared dead is miraculously found. Naturally, he is brought to headquarters. And, when he and I are together, either immediately after his rescue, or at some future date, after he's collected sufficient intelligence to suit Gemini's needs..." she trailed off, letting Kim fill in the blanks.

"It makes a certain... _bizarre_ kind of sense. But we're talking about _Ron_," Kim insisted.

xxxXXXxxx

Version B - Elaborating on a Theory

xxxXXXxxx

"Precisely. Still flush with victory, having dismantled WEE, a heroic survivor that was feared dead is miraculously found. Naturally, he is brought to GJ headquarters. And, when he and I are together, either immediately after his rescue - or possibly at some future date, after he's collected sufficient intelligence about GJ and Team Possible to suit Gemini's needs..." she trailed off, letting Kim fill in the blanks. "Or perhaps my death is too simple a motive. What if instead, Gemini places a completely trusted agent in the heart of both his primary enemies' organizations - one who is beyond reproach and with impeccable credibility. What better way to foment evil and avoid reprisals than a pipeline into the planning and operations of the very people tasked with bringing him down?"

xxxXXXxxx

**Notes: ** A bit of Dr. Director's paranoia explained, then elaborated on in the later draft. This was cut in favor of leaving it more or less up to the reader to fill in the nature of Gemini's plot, since much of it is implicit in what they are looking for while examining Ron.

**XXXxxxXXX**

**Final Notes:** Well there you have it... Hopefully you've found these excerpts interesting, as an exercise in the creative process if nothing else. 


	8. Bad Girl

**Notes: ** The opening part of another potential story. Blame shkspr 1048 for this one; we were trading story ideas back and forth, and this one struck a chord. It will eventually stray pretty far afield from the basic premise "Kim made evil by the Attitudinator," but it sprouts from it.

I've got too many works in progress as is, but I couldn't resist writing this as a bit of a break from the next part of "The Shadow Over Middleton" - the last couple chapters have run 10k+ words each, and the next one is on track for the same or more. Since this one's not really a departure for me - it sort of parallels 2 or 3 other story ideas I have - it largely sprang wholly formed as I thought about the basic idea. So I went where the muse was pointing.

Summary: Alternate universe story spun off from the episode "Bad Boy." What if, instead of Ron gaining Drakken's evil, it had gone into Kim?

Things are kind of dark, but don't expect things to be quite as you'd expect; things may actually be as they appear, but events in my stories are rarely one-dimensional.

Enjoy, and R&R!

**xxxXXXxxx**

Bad Girl

Dr. Director was irritated; a simple statement, but one laden with a great deal of meaning. It held much the same understated truth that could be found in a description of the heart of a star as being "warm," or an ocean as being "damp."

In a less controlled person, anger of such intensity would have manifested itself in screaming, destruction of property, and, most likely, grievous bodily harm inflicted upon the source of the irritation. But in Dr. Betty Director, the head of the clandestine law enforcement organization Global Justice, it made itself apparent only via a subtle undertone of heat pinking her cheeks, a bit of tension in the muscles of her jaw, and a certain narrowing of her eye.

Any one of these warning signs would have been sufficient to heighten the fear of her subordinates. Taken in total, they all but screamed the need to tread cautiously. Not even her oft-reviled brother had ever managed to rouse her to such heights of anger, and her subordinates visibly cringed as she turned away from her desk to address the meeting once more.

"In less than a month," she began, the iciness of her words more biting than even the heat of her anger, "I have to face both the Senate intelligence committee and a House appropriations committee in an attempt to justify our continued existence as an organization.

"And what will I tell them?" she asked rhetorically. "I will tell them that since a teenaged cheerleader and her equally teenaged sidekick - one who still doesn't even need to _shave_ - went on vacation, we have been utterly and completely ineffective."

She picked up a stack of manilla folders from atop her desk and slowly stalked around the conference table, pausing behind each seated figure to throw some of the files onto the table in front of them. The files themselves were little more than reference materials for the corresponding electronic reports, but it still made for highly effective theater.

"Piracy on the high seas..." Thwack. "Top secret labs raided..." Thwack. "Scientists kidnapped..." Thwack. "Villains disappearing without a trace..." Thwack. "Data stores looted..." Thwack. "Stolen weapons..." Thwack. "And of course, the missing hoverjets and equipment... that vanished from _our very own arsenals_."

The final "thwack" as a pair of folders landed in front of Agent Will Du caused him to wince even as he sank lower into his chair. He held his tongue, not eager to draw her wrath more specifically onto himself; although young, he already had years of experience with the GJ hierarchy and what _not_ to do if you wanted to get ahead and remain a top agent.

"Ladies and gentlemen," Dr. Director paused, her face averted from her subordinates. "I am thoroughly dismayed. Global Justice employs a large number of people, and our budget is, to say the least, substantial. So why is it," she asked, pausing dramatically while her tone dripped with both scorn and sarcasm, "that we collectively can't seem to manage to wipe our own backsides without a pair of unpaid, part-time volunteers and a _rodent_ to hold our hands?"

She spun back to face the assemblage, and her eye burned with emotion. "Tell me," she began, but fell silent as the door to her office tentatively creaked open.

"Dr. Director? Ma'am?" a hesitant voice came from the hallway.

"I'm in a conference. I asked not to be disturbed," she barked.

"Um... We've picked up a signal in the monitoring room. We think you should come see this."

Agent Du winced once again, in sympathy this time. The use of the collective "we" to verbally evade personal responsibility when delivering a report was one of Dr. Director's peeves - and she was clearly not in a forgiving mood.

"Well," Dr. Director straightened. "Perhaps **I** should," the not-so-subtle emphasis she used was lost on no one. Her scowl raked across her cringing subordinates. "In the meantime, feel free to try to think of a solution for our ineffectiveness - one that will satisfy not only _me_, but also the people who _pay us_ to be so... useless." Without another word, she stalked from the room, slamming the door behind her.

The small sigh of relief that erupted in the sudden silence was both universal and heartfelt. But as the GJ operatives looked at each other, the silence only lengthened as an answer proved not to be forthcoming.

xxxXXXxxx

"What is it I need to see?" Dr. Director demanded as she strode into the operations room, still irritated both by recent events, and the interruption.

A white-haired scientist stepped forward, and the tiny, circular lenses of his glasses flashed as they reflected the overhead lights. "We're picking up a transmission," he answered, gesturing to the large monitor that was the focal point for the ranks of workstations filling the room.

"What's the origin?" Dr. Director asked, swallowing her ire as she focused on the task at hand.

"Unknown. Or rather, too many to pinpoint. It's being sent on all channels, all frequencies, and is being rebroadcast from multiple transmission loci."

"Like the Adrena Lynn broadcast?" Dr. Director blinked in surprise. "Didn't we fix it so that couldn't happen again?"

"We did. Or rather, we thought we had fixed it," the scientist admitted. "So far we haven't been able to crack the method being used this time, let alone devise a counter for it."

"Hmm," Dr. Director scowled, and focused on the screen. "We're recording this?"

"Naturally."

She nodded as she studied the broadcast transmission. A room was displayed in the image; barren, shadowed, and dark. The walls and floor were undecorated, polished stone, while in the background, a throne carved of a darker, coarser-grained stone peeked from a pool of shadow.

Dr. Director's eye narrowed as she tried to pierce the darkness, but booted feet and clawed gloves were the only real attributes that were apparent; even what little she could see of the limbs they were connected to were sheathed in dark colored clothing, blending into the darkness and hiding any further detail. "The figure on the throne. Identity?"

"Unknown," a largely bald scientist asserted as he handed her a clipboard. "We haven't been able to enhance the image to reveal him - or her. We don't have a point of reference to estimate height, but based on extrapolations for human norms, the body type and shape do not conform to any known villain."

Her focus returning to the gloves, Dr. Director asked, "Shego?" She glanced down to skim through the report on the clipboard as the transmission remained unenlightening.

"She's confirmed as being in the Caribbean," the first scientist answered. "We have a positive visual identification at a resort as of the last fifteen minutes - well after the transmission started. Which doesn't preclude this being a pre- recorded message, but in conjunction with a computer analysis indicating the figure wears a different boot size..." he trailed off, and Dr. Director nodded her acceptance of the information as a monitor lit up with a side-by-side comparison of the figure's boot with a green and black boot, illustrating the differences in size and configuration.

"Has the transmission been entirely like this, Dr. Baker?" Dr. Director wondered aloud, setting aside the clipboard and turning back to the screen. "No demands? No gloating?"

"None," the white-haired scientist confirmed. "And no activity, beyond small movements from the figure on the throne."

After a brief pause, he added, "The preliminary report from the mineralogists has tentatively identified the stone as granite, but is a relatively common variety. And since the room has clearly been shaped, it is of little help in narrowing down the broadcast's source."

"I don't like this," Dr. Director muttered to herself. "Not one bit."

"We have movement!" a voice called from somewhere in the room.

Looking up at the monitor, Dr. Director watched a shirtless male figure walk into camera range from the side. The angle of the camera was ill-suited to show him as he approached - possibly deliberately so - and the man's face was hidden behind the wild thatch of his blonde hair. In conjunction with the lack of a known referent to estimate height, his obscured features prevented easy identification.

Even with what little could be seen of him in profile, the man appeared half-starved. His body was like that of a whippet, or a greyhound in perfect racing form - his skin taut over muscle and bone, with no excess flesh to obscure the outlines of his anatomical features.

A pattern of welts and a tracery of cuts in varying stages of healing covered what could be seen of his shoulder and upper back. Dr. Director hissed between her teeth as she noted the presence of a narrow studded black leather collar around his neck - which underlined the canine comparison his appearance had brought to mind. "We're definitely dealing with a villain," she noted, unsurprised by the confirmation of her suspicions.

The male knelt by the throne, and offered a matte grey metallic ring up to the seated figure in the cradle of his palms. In response, one gloved hand languidly lifted from the arm of the throne and stretched out.

Reverently, the male slipped the ring over the outstretched hand and onto the seated figure's wrist, then leaned back on his heels. After a brief hesitation, the ring appeared to shiver, before resizing itself to fit snugly to the seated figure's forearm.

Cursing, Dr. Director turned to a nearby subordinate. "Get in touch with the FBI; find out if the Centurion Project has lost another prototype," she ordered.

Dr. Director turned as a sudden gasp escaped from a nearby scientist. "What is it?" she demanded.

"That's Ron Stoppable," the man replied, his eyes wide as he pointed to the kneeling figure.

"Impossible," Dr. Director insisted.

"I worked on the Ron Factor project; believe me, it's him."

The monitor showing the boot comparison cleared, then began to display a picture of the teen's smiling face as bright blue lines were drawn between various points, measuring angles, distances, and points of commonality.

On screen, the kneeling figure turned, and an image of the gaunt man's briefly revealed features was captured and displayed beside Ron's archival image. Blue lines appeared on the new image, repeating the measurement process on the new image.

Despite the fact that the faces looked quite different in appearance - albeit similar, the measurements and ratios were identical. Almost instantly, a text message was superimposed over both faces, "Identity confirmed. Subject: Ron Stoppable."

"Confirmed!" a voice called out.

"But he's so thin," Dr. Director muttered quietly, greatly disturbed by the changes to his appearance.

The shadowy figure on the throne ran a clawed finger across the kneeling man's shoulder, sending a thin tracery of blood trickling down his shoulder blade from a short, thin cut. Chillingly, neither figure showed a reaction to either the injury or its infliction.

The outstretched gloved hand lightly stroked the kneeling figures head, the touch appearing to be halfway between a simple ruffling of the hair and a caress bestowed upon a beloved pet. As he leaned into the touch, his neck arched, revealing a thick, broad scar on his back where his neck met his shoulders - and where GJ typically installed tracking implants.

Following a gentle touch to the side of his neck, the kneeling figure rose without a word to step aside. The gloved hand trailed lingeringly across his back as he stood, but despite the way the claws glittered in the light, they didn't leave another mark on his already plentifully scarred back.

Dr. Director scowled as the man's other shoulder was revealed as he stepped away. Branded onto the back of his shoulder, the scarified and still raw burn marks visibly raised on his skin, were the letters "K P".

Dr. Director shook her head in disbelief. "No, it can't be."

The man knelt beside the shadowed throne, his form melting into the shadows. Although his body was hidden, his face remained visible - but it was also rigidly composed and carefully blank of expression.

From that blank, impassive canvas, his brown eyes smoldered. Despite how scarred, starved, and blank he might have appeared, a fire still lived somewhere inside Ron Stoppable.

"He looks so different," Dr. Director shook her head in shock and dismay. "It seems incredible, but if that's Ron, then..." she trailed off, then shook her head more forcefully, "No, I refuse to believe it. It just can't be Possible."

"For years," a female voice echoed from a speaker as the enthroned figure on the screen moved within the cloaking shadows, breaking the transmission's silence. "The world has come to me. People. Companies. Agencies. NGO's. Governments. All of them seeking help. Seeking answers. Seeking guidance. Seeking resolution for problems both petty and profound. Seeking _salvation_.

"The time has finally come. The answer to the world's problems is now at hand.

"Reluctantly, I have been forced to concede that the world needs my guiding hand to operate. And it requires my **control** to realize the true potential it holds.

"But though the planet and its population cries out for the governance that only I can provide, I am benevolent. I am aware of the difficulties a change of this magnitude will create, and I am prepared to make the transition as easy as possible. Consequently, I am issuing this formal announcement as official notification, and in one month's time, at the stroke of midnight, Greenwich time, I will assume complete and absolute authority over this planet and every living being upon it."

The enthroned figure stood, and Dr. Director's lip curled in distaste as the teen stepped into the light. Kim Possible wore a black bodysuit - a dark mockery of Dr. Director's own uniform; aside from the clawed gloves and the color, it was a perfect replica of those issued by Global Justice.

Kim's fiery mane was drawn tightly back and gathered into a pony tail, with the rest of her hair compressed against her skull in a slick helmet vaguely reminiscent of Dr. Director's own coiffure. Although it may have been a trick of the shadows, or possibly an effect of the gel that locked the style in place, her hair also appeared to have darkened several shades.

But it was none of these things that sent the wave of distress racing through the Global Justice operations center as Kim revealed herself to the camera - and to the world. What caused outcries of consternation was the fact that Kim's skin was now a deep, rich blue; the blue of a summer sky - or of a certain mad scientist's skin.

"While it's true," the smiling, blue-skinned teen continued, "this could be considered surrendering to the inevitable, or even possibly as 'conquest' if one is sufficiently negative. But don't think of it that way," she chided, even as she smiled politely. "Instead, think of this as a beginning. The dawning of a new golden age for the world.

"You have one month to ready yourselves for the new world order," she smiled, and the white of her teeth was shockingly brilliant against the dark blue of her lips, and the still darker blue of her gums. "Welcome to my world."

As the screen went dark, Dr. Director scowled.

"We have confirmation from the FBI; the Centurion Project Mark VII has been stolen," a harried looking operative informed her. "They have formally requested our assistance in recovering the missing device."

Dr. Director simply nodded, and continued to stare at the pair of still frames displayed on the giant monitor: the blue-skinned Kim Possible, and the blank-faced Ron Stoppable. "What does the telemetry on Team Possible's implants say?"

"They still register as being in the south of France," a technician noted.

Turning to a subordinate, Dr. Director ordered, "Have the London and Paris branches coordinate on a mission. The readings are probably spoofed - you saw that scar, too, correct? - but have their location verified anyway, and gather whatever intelligence they can - maybe we can identify when things started to go wrong."

Nodding, the subordinate ran off to pass along Dr. Director's orders.

"How could something like this happen? How could we have missed something so... calamitous?" she wondered aloud. "This goes so far beyond mere... ineffectiveness."

Shaking off her moment of confusion, she seized a microphone from a nearby stand and thumbed it to life. "This is Dr. Director," she announced, and her words were broadcast throughout the underground base. "Effective immediately, all leave and vacations are cancelled, all personnel are required to work mandatory overtime as needed, and all of Global Justice is to be considered to be in a class A state of hostilities until further notice.

"Before the end of today, I want Drakken and Shego standing in front of me," she ordered. "I want a complete analysis on how the global communications network was subverted - again - and most of all, I want an answer to this question: What happened to Team Possible?"

She paused, then barked, "Let's move people. We're working against a deadline!"

**xxxXXXxxx**

**To be continued...**

**(eventually)**

  



	9. Bad Girl 2

Summary: Continuation of "Bad Girl" - Kim's evil, and Ron's still her sidekick.

Warning: There's some partial nudity and reference to some not-nice behavior in this - Kim _is_ evil, after all - but nothing really nasty happens on camera.

A scene _is_ potentially disturbing, but doesn't meet the criteria for "M" - in my opinion. If folks think it's necessary, I'll move this into its own story frame to up the rating, but remember - things still aren't necessarily as they seem.

**xxxXXXxxx**

Bad Girl 2

**xxxXXXxxx**

Ron Stoppable paused on the catwalk overlooking the sunken workshop and let his eyes roam. The subterranean workroom was bustling with subdued activity; a few men were welding near one wall, sending a shower of sparks cascading across the stony floor, a few more were eating lunch, their tools lying scattered around them on the crates they were using as an improvised table, and in the center of the room, beneath the bulk of a massive hand-tooled engine block, a short man with a greasy pompadour was making adjustments to the machined connections to the component with a grimy wrench.

As he descended a skeletal steel stairway, Ron's eyes passed over the activity without interest. But upon reaching the bottom of the steps, Ron found what he had been seeking. Crouched atop the rusted, disembodied leg of a Drakken-constructed and Kim- salvaged Destructo Bot, a muscular blonde man in a blue T-shirt eyed the engine block through the frame of his outstretched hands, visualizing it in its eventual completed state.

"Ed," Ron noted.

"Yo, skinny dude!" the villain known as Motor Ed grinned cheerily. Hopping down from his perch, Ed fluffed out the back of his mullet, freeing its length from the black metal collar locked around his neck. "How's it hanging, bro? Seriously?"

Ignoring the greeting, Ron simply asked, "Status?"

"Dude, tell Red this motor will be totally righteous. I dunno where you got the power plant..."

"Münich," Ron interjected without changing his expression.

"... but this thing will rock, and rock _hard_ when it's done!" Overcome by his emotions, Ed broke into a spontaneous display of air guitar virtuosity, playing a wild Skynyrd riff as he thrashed his head up and down, waving his hair wildly until it floated around his head like a bleached halo.

Ron waited patiently until the performance was complete and Ed was back on his feet, carefully combing his disordered locks back into place. "Any requests or problems?"

"Nah," Ed grinned, rubbing his hands together until his biceps bulged, flushing the skin around his tattoo. "Chops was right on with what he told Red we'd need when she 'hired' us. Aside from that, we've got good brew, righteous toys to play with, tasty grub... I should have gone to work for Red years ago. Seriously. It's a sweet gig, better than the government labs - except for, you know, the whole collar thing."

Although he nodded, Ron's expression was unrevealing. "I'll convey your... satisfaction."

"Sure," Ed shrugged, grinning over at some of his boys who'd turned to watch their quiet conversation, before adding, "plus she doesn't mess with the mullet so it's all good. Have her come on down. We'd love to show her..." he trailed off as Ron's eyes suddenly narrowed. "Whoa, dude," Ed backed off both physically and verbally, his jovial attitude cooling as he stepped back, shaking his hands calmingly. It would almost have been comical - given the sheer difference in size between the two - if Ed wasn't so clearly frightened.

"Didn't mean nothing by it," Ed insisted. "Dude, Red's blue - like Drew. It'd be like kissing my cousin. It's not happening. Seriously."

Ron slowly nodded, and Ed exhaled as the moment of tension eased. "Plus, bro, I love a chick who can scrap, but seriously... These days, she plays a little rough for my tastes." He gestured to the brand on Ron's shoulder as proof. "Me and the boys just wanted to show off for the boss a little."

"I understand," Ron relaxed slightly further.

Ed eyed the teen, and despite the circumstances, his eyes filled with a hint of concern. "Dude, you've always been skinny, but man... you need to eat. C'mon, the boys have some hoagies - we'll eat, toss back some brews..."

"Thank you for the offer," Ron responded emotionlessly, "but I'm not hungry."

Shrugging, Ed dared to reach out and ruffle Ron's hair. "No problem, man. And keep growing it out; you've got the makings of a righteous mullet here."

Ron's lip twisted in what might have been the prelude to a smile, but he remained silent, and after a moment, his expression smoothed out once more. He eventually simply nodded in both acknowledgment and farewell, and without further words, retreated back up the stairs.

"Everything okay, boss?" Ed's diminutive sidekick asked as he crawled from beneath the engine block.

"Yeah, sure, Chops, " Ed answered, his eyes lingering on Ron's retreating back. "I guess Red's riding him hard."

"I'll just bet she is..." Chops' chuckle was faintly lecherous until Ed cuffed him powerfully on the shoulder. "Ow," the sidekick whined, rubbing his sore arm. "What'd you go and do that for?"

"Keep your big yap shut. Dude, do you want to make Red mad?" Ed pointed out.

The sidekick blanched beneath his pompadour. He awkwardly ran his gloved finger along the inside edge of the metal collar he wore around his neck. "No."

"Then play nice, bro. Let him keep Red happy. We do our jobs, we get these collars off - and we get gone. _Way_ gone," he shuddered.

"Yeah," the sidekick muttered in agreement. "Better him than me," he fervently added.

xxxXXXxxx

Ron ignored the parting conversation the acoustics in the workshop brought to his ears as he sealed the door behind him. _"I can't really blame them for thinking that,"_ he silently reminded himself as he began walking down the corridor. _"It's not like I've explained anything that's happened to them."_

He paused as an indicator on the wall began to glow amber. After a moment, heralded by a wavefront of air pushed in front of it, a mag-lev train loaded with raw ore rocketed across the passage in front of him. Fresh from the mine levels located far below even the deeply subterranean level Ron was currently walking through, the carts still retained a hint of the smell of brimstone and a bit of the infernal heat of the depths it had been wrested from.

After the train had passed, and the indicator glowed green to indicate the path was clear, Ron resumed his walk, stepping over the smoothly polished track inset into the floor to continue on his way. After descending two levels and traversing several corridors, Ron paused again as a doorway opened in the wall ahead.

Two man-sized automatons strode forth from the assembly line and into the corridor. Although created using technology appropriated from one of Dr. Drakken's former lairs, Kim's version of the robots were controlled by the limited AI Dr. Freeman had "voluntarily" adapted for the mad scientist, and that she had then modified in turn. They were smart enough to be useful, but not self-aware enough to revolt like the Bebes - nor to potentially refuse their orders, like SADI might.

The robots walked into the corridor, their knees flexing the opposite direction from a human's - _"Like Aviarius' Flamingo of Doom,"_ Ron couldn't help but think - and paused as they scanned the intruder. A glowing red slit inset into the armor like a visor pulsed as the sensors identified Ron. They hastily saluted their creator's sidekick in unison, raising the energy weapon mounted where a human's right arm would be to the pod that served them as both head and body.

When Ron didn't issue new orders, simply standing idle and mute while returning their level gaze, they followed their original programming. They marched past him in single file, the newly constructed machines heading for their first posting as perimeter guards for Kim's ever-expanding fortress complex.

Ron watched the pair of robots retreat until they vanished around a curve in the passage. _"I haven't seen that model before,"_ he thought as he continued on. _"She must have a dozen different varieties of them by now."_

Unlike people, robots could be trusted - once the appropriate safeguards had been installed, anyway - and they were far easier to control. Consequently, machines formed the vast majority of Kim's ever expanding army and workforce, and the depths of her lair were always humming with activity as robots went forth to collect raw materials, shaped new sections, installed Kim's newly constructed equipment, or simply patrolled, watching for intruders.

Only a few actual humans were in Kim's "employ," and they had all been fitted with the control collars - devices capable of inducing excruciating pain via direct nerve stimulation, or death by a number of unpleasant methods. Although only Kim could know for sure, Ron was reasonably confident that he was the only human in the lair - now grown far larger than the relatively modest sized one of Professor Dementor's that had been its beginnings - without a control collar. _"But it's not like she doesn't already have control of me."_

While lost in his ruminations, Ron's feet had carried him to his destination. He nodded to the robotic turret beside the doorway, and at the gesture, the door retracted with a solid "whoosh."

Stepping through and into the room beyond, he halted well out of reach of the cage that filled most of the interior - even the reach of the inhumanly proportioned mutant within. "Monty," Ron greeted him, his expression unreadable.

"Ron Stoppable," Monkey Fist drawled as he lowered himself from the light fixture in his cage and dropped to the floor. "My old... _friend_. What brings you here to my... new estate?" he wondered aloud. "Come to gloat?"

"Kim Possible requested that I convey her thanks," Ron replied, his expression carefully blank.

"Oh, really?" Monkey fist scowled. "For what, pray tell?"

"For the skill and training that you imparted to the monkey ninjas," Ron answered. "She tells me they are proving to be... most useful in her current plan."

His composure cracking, the mutated English lord momentarily looked as though he was going to lunge for the bars. He visibly strained as he forced himself to regain his equilibrium. "How... delightful. You've become a most... faithful servant. Tell me, how do you find your position as Miss Possible's lapdog?"

Seemingly unmoved by the biting sarcasm, Ron ignored the taunts. "In her mercy, and in recognition of your skills, she has decided to offer you the opportunity to continue training my monkey ninjas..."

"**My** monkey ninjas!" Fiske barked. "They are **mine**!" he insisted. "I found them, I trained them, and they are loyal to me!"

Ron continued speaking as though the captive hadn't spoken, "... to better serve her needs since my own duties preclude a high level of personal involvement in their training." Elliptically, he added, "Following your defeat, your former servants abandoned your cause. They serve Kim now."

"Defeat?" Monkey Fist snarled, baring his artificially elongated fangs in unbridled rage. "You rang serenity chimes, then shot me with a tranquilizer gun when I sought to meditate!"

"The essence of the ninja is deception," Ron noted, and there was an echo of an older, calmer voice in his words, "and mastery of Tai Shing Pek Kwar is half mental. To one who is out of harmony, defeat is inevitable."

"Mastery? You?" Monkey Fist sneered.

Ron's pointed glance over his shoulder towards the door - that he was free to use, but Monkey Fist was not - was greeted with a snort of disgust from the caged master of the martial forms of Tai Shing Pek Kwar. "Fine. I'll continue to train the monkey ninjas." Glancing around his cell, he made an elaborate show of his vast boredom and ennui as he added, "Anything is better than rotting in this... cage."

Despite the naked calculation in Monkey Fist's expression, and the blatant deceit in his eyes, Ron simply nodded. "I will convey your acceptance of Kim's offer. Be dutiful, and you will prosper; be disobedient, and you will suffer."

Ron turned to leave, but was brought up short as the caged Fiske called out to him, "Stoppable! This too shall pass," he stroked his collar, grimacing in distaste, then added, "You know that I _will_ be the Ultimate Monkey Master. It is my destiny."

"Destiny," Ron commented, carefully not looking over his shoulder, "is a cruel taskmaster, and fate has a sick sense of humor. Tempt them at your peril."

A snort of laughter came from the cage, and just for a moment, Monkey Fist felt a faint feeling of solidarity with his nemesis. "You have no idea," he chuckled. "How well I know..." he snickered, the volume of his outburst of mirth slowly growing until he was erupting with peals of barking simian laughter.

As Ron left the room, the door sealed behind him, cutting off the crazed English lord's mirthful mocking. He briefly shuddered, alone in the corridor, then wrapped himself once more in his cloak of emotionlessness.

"Chippy," Ron abruptly said aloud.

From behind the robotic turret guarding the entrance to Monkey Fist's prison, the small form of a black-clad monkey ninja melted from the shadows. The masked simian knelt respectfully before the true destined Monkey Master and lowered her head, waiting to receive his orders.

"None of that," Ron gently chided, "Remember? You serve Kim. 'The Kim Squad.'"

Chippy simply shrugged, remaining in the respectful posture.

"Whatever," Ron rolled his eyes, momentarily breaching his facade of indifference. "Monkey Fist is treacherous and dangerous, but Kim seeks to use him anyway. Watch him carefully. Please. For me, since I can't always be there."

At Chippy's nod, Ron reached into a pocket and pulled out a small remote, similar in size and function to a car's unlocking keychain. "This is tuned to his collar alone, and the safety switch at the bottom will prevent accidents. If Monkey Fist attempts to plot against Kim or seeks to escape, use the left button as a reminder of his... motivation. However, if he ever seeks to attack or harm Kim directly, use the right button."

The monkey ninja looked down at the remote, examining the buttons and the safety switch. After her examination, she nodded in understanding and carefully tucked it away inside her gi.

A brief hiss of static came from the robotic turret before Kim's voice spoke through the intermediary. "Intruder alert - sections 37 Alpha and 42 Gamma. Ron, proceed to section 42 gamma and deal with our... guest."

"Acknowledged," Ron said. Turning back to Chippy, Ron ordered, "Get the others. Protect Kim."

Ron watched Chippy scamper obediently off to follow his orders, then began to run towards section 42 Gamma - a section just beyond Professor Dementor's former lair, but still well outside the lair's true inner perimeter. _"It's begun."_

xxxXXXxxx

Agent Will Du, one of the top agents for Global Justice, scowled ferociously at the sealed hatch that bedeviled him, so close, and yet much too far away, as a computer analysis of the distance and angles involved appeared on the lenses of his sunglasses as though to mock his inability to reach the portal. He turned his eyes upwards, turning his scowl on the ventilation duct that had fallen away so ignominiously beneath him, dumping him into his current... situation before the trapped floor swung shut once more, sealing him in this tiny room.

_"Dr. Director will be most displeased,"_ he noted silently. He attempted to be dispassionate about the matter, but found the thought too terrifying to do it very effectively. _"A broken leg,"_ he thought with disgust. He tried to think of a word adequate to summarize his feelings about the situation but drew a blank. _"Ignoble comes close. Or Ignominious. Or..."_ his thoughts trailed off as the hatchway abruptly opened, the whoosh of its retraction loud in the confined space.

"Hi, Will."

Agent Du blinked in surprise as, despite the colossal foul up that his mission had become, his target - against all odds - presented itself. Quickly reaching into his side pocket, he pulled out a device that GJ's top scientists had spent both years of research and development time, and millions of federal dollars developing, and pressed the simple red button mounted near the bottom.

"Oh, hey... A silicon phase disrupter. Haven't seen one of those in ages - Kim's brothers made one a couple years ago. Who knew it was such a big thing to make one portable?"

Glancing back and forth between his target and the device in his hand, Will pressed the button again, but there was no visible reaction from Ron Stoppable. _"The scientists said there would be a reaction - smoke from the destroyed mind control device as it overloaded, a seizure as his central nervous system is restored to control of his faculties... possibly a visible electrical discharge as the beam synchronizes with the circuitry... Why isn't it working? I put the battery in the right way, didn't I?"_

"That looks painful," Ron commented, crouching by Will's side. "Broken leg... a few broken ribs... and what do they call 'em... fancy name for bruises? Soft tissue something."

"Why aren't you twitching?" Will demanded, his composure cracking as he repeatedly pushed the button on the disrupter.

Ron pulled his shirt off over his head and calmly began tearing it into strips. When he had accumulated a sufficient supply, he plucked the disrupter from Will's limp hand, then began to rifle through the injured agent's pockets and began taking away his gear.

"What are you doing?" Will demanded. Cocking his wrist at just the right angle, Agent Du aimed his Stop Watch as Ron's hand delved into his pants' pocket.

A sudden crackle caused Will to look down, and to his shock, found a throwing spike embedded in the watch face. "Wha - ?" he began, then shivered as he felt - either psychosomatically or in actuality - the voltage drain harmlessly from the incapacitating mechanism as the spike short-circuited its battery.

"That wasn't very nice, Will," Ron noted with another spike held at the ready. After a moment, when the injured agent made no more threatening moves, the elongated needle of sharpened steel seemed to vanish from his hand as Ron asked, "And what are you doing here, anyway?"

"Dr. Director sent me," Will grated from between clenched teeth as Ron resumed the invasive and unpleasant process of search and confiscation. "I'm here to rescue you."

Ron glanced over at the silicon phase disrupter he'd taken and set aside. "Right now, I'm awfully tempted to say something about you being a little short to be a rescuer."

When Will looked blank, Ron simply shook his head dismissively. "Never mind. Kim sent me here, so you're obviously the reason why."

"You still call her 'Kim,'" Will noted.

Ron shrugged and replied conversationally, "She hasn't told me what else to call her yet. I thought 'The Supreme One' had a nice ring to it, but she didn't like it for some reason." He reached for Will's sunglasses, then paused as he visibly reconsidered the move. "You can keep those. Kim's already got some - and probably more already from your friends - and none of your transmissions have gone through since you got through the outer defensive perimeter, anyway."

With Will divested of anything useful or remotely dangerous, Ron began tending his wounds. As he used the torn strips of his shirt and a pair of telescoping tonfa he'd confiscated from the agent to form a makeshift splint on his broken leg, Ron had to ask, "The vents? Seriously? Did you really think you could get in through the vents?" His disbelief was plain, even through his muted and largely unemotional demeanor.

Agent Du winced as his broken bone was expertly - but not painlessly - realigned. "It seemed... the appropriate route," he whispered, his face blanching from the pain.

Ron shook his head as he knotted the makeshift splint together tightly. "Kim and I have been infiltrating lairs for years. If you really thought she wouldn't know what to look for when building her own..."

"Look, Stoppable," Agent Du rallied his reserves and interrupted Ron's lecture. "Come with me; Dr. Director wants you safe. Global Justice can protect you."

Ron's snort was vaguely contemptuous. "GJ hasn't been very effective lately. Not to mention that Kim hasn't implanted anything in me without telling me about it - something I can't say about GJ." Ron's scratch at the back of his neck was pointed.

"Don't you want your freedom?" Will demanded.

"Freedom?" Ron's sudden bark of laughter was bitter, and utterly without humor as his eyes didn't quite meet the agent's. "Right now, thanks to Kim, I am probably the freest person in the history of the planet."

Will blinked in confusion. "I know you're young," he began tentatively, "and probably don't have much experience with such things. And I know that it probably seems..." He trailed awkwardly off, before manfully continuing, "... like the pain is worth it, thanks to your teenage hormones. But surely even you have to admit that branding and blood play isn't exactly vanilla. Do you even have a safe word?" he asked.

"Safe word?" Ron paused in his ministrations and looked curiously at the prone agent. "What's that?"

"It's something that's supposed to keep deviant sexual practices from getting out of control," Will uncomfortably explained, quoting nearly verbatim from the lecture Dr. Director had required him to attend before embarking on the mission. _"That was the strangest briefing ever,"_ he unconsciously shuddered at the memory - especially of the visual aids.

Ron snorted again. "Why does everyone seem to think Kim and I are having sex?" he asked rhetorically. "The only time we've even really kissed was when she was under the control of the Moodulator."

Will's expression twisted uncomfortably as Ron resumed bandaging his injuries. _"Not important; let the higher ups think about it. Even if it's not sexual, he's still obviously suffering from a severe case of Stockholm Syndrome."_

"I can't believe you guys are so off-base about things. Isn't it obvious?"

"Obviously not," Will gritted from between clenched teeth as Ron probed his broken ribs.

Ron glanced down. "Rufus could tell you. She does stuff to me for the same reason you made it so far in - not that you're even close to anything important. Kim did say I 'respond well to negative reinforcement' - whatever that means."

Will's confusion was obvious.

"Don't you get it? They're not punishments so much as loyalty tests. You wouldn't have made it any further than the others if Kim didn't want to use you as another test for me."

"She branded you with her initials as a loyalty test?" Will asked, aghast at the possibility it might be true.

Ron reached over his shoulder and stroked one of the raised scars, rubbing the curve of the "P" meditatively. "That... was meant as more of a reminder. We were stealing a shipload of bauxite and I disobeyed one of her orders."

Will slowly blinked, still not understanding the situation. "Look, just come with me. Talk to Dr. Director. I know we can get this cleared up, get you some help... get you _both_ some help."

"It's been... what, about three years since Kim and I first fought Drakken, right?" Ron interrupted the agent's not very impassioned plea.

"What are you...?" Will began, but Ron resumed speaking before he could complete the thought.

"In those years," Ron continued, "we've caught Drakken a bunch of times. But Drakken's still blue, still evil, and all that, right?"

"So what?" Will asked.

"So it's obvious that Kim has whatever Drakken has, right? Blue skin, tendency towards lair building, a taste for robotic lackeys, sidekick she sends out to steal for her... Surely even _you_ haven't missed the pattern, even if she's much, much smarter than Drakken ever was?"

Despite the unveiled sarcasm, Will retorted, "Again: so what?"

"So if you think I'm going to turn on her, just so that you can throw her in prison and forget about her, you're even nuttier than I thought." Ron didn't quite meet Will's eyes as he added, "Change her mind. Convince Kim to surrender, and I will, too. Otherwise, don't waste either her or my time with these half- baked infiltration schemes. I guarantee they'll fail, and next time she may not be so merciful."

"Merciful?"

Ron leaned down and helped Will to his feet after brushing dust and bits of his destroyed shirt from his hands. "Yep. I'm throwing you back. You're too small, and Kim's probably already caught the limit."

As Will staggered through the doorway, leaning heavily against Ron as he tried not to move his broken leg, he panted, "Not that I'm not grateful, but won't this fail your 'test'?"

"Nah," Ron grinned - for the first time that Will could recall in the entire conversation, and the difference in his expression, both from how he remembered Ron from before, and from earlier in the conversation, was both striking and dramatic. "By throwing you back, GJ has to pay your medical bills. And I'm sure you'll come after her again, so better the devil you know, and all that."

xxxXXXxxx

Ron watched Will's escape pod as it receded from view, heading west towards the setting sun, the flashing distress beacon on top lighting its way. _"No laser fire; Kim must agree with me."_ Ron felt satisfied about that - for a number of reasons, not least of which was the agent's survival.

"Ron, come to the control room," Kim's voice came from a hidden speaker, distracting him from his first view of the world beyond the walls of Kim's lair in over a week.

"On my way," Ron announced to the empty air.

xxxXXXxxx

Ron's steps faltered as he entered the control room. Kim was as shirtless as he, and her lacy bra was shockingly white against the smooth blue backdrop of her chest.

"Nicely handled Ron - Ed, Monkey Fist, _and_ Will," Kim praised him with a smile. "Not exactly how I would have dealt with them, but well done nonetheless. And you made good time, too; I was still changing." Stepping closer, she gestured towards the bulging remnants of his shirt he clutched in one hand. "What's that?"

Unconcerned that Kim affected to not know the answer, despite otherwise knowing his every move, Ron set the makeshift bag atop a console and let the contents spill in front of a keyboard. "Will's toys." He kept his face expressionless as Kim walked past him to examine the booty, even when she "accidentally" brushed one lace-encased breast against his arm.

Kim stirred the various devices with one hand, then paused with a finger resting on the silicon phase disrupter. "They think I'm controlling your mind with an implant or a chip," she snorted in amused disbelief. "GJ is full of fools. Just because it's what they would do, they assume... I never fully grasped the idea before, but for all their budget and pretension, they are just as worthless and ineffective as everyone else in the world. Aside from you..."

She turned and ran her hand gently across his shoulder, ending with her fingers cupped possessively across her initials branded into his skin. "I should have known you'd understand what I was doing." She sounded thoroughly pleased with that fact. "You should have told me sooner," she mock scolded, gently tracing a series of scars on his back left by her clawed gloves. "I wouldn't have bothered with such... crude techniques."

Kim stroked his cheek gently with her other hand. "Since I made you start realizing your potential, more and more I'm learning what a gift you are to me."

Ron's eyes dipped, and he found himself looking at her all but naked chest. He closed his eyes tightly, willing himself not to see or think about the darker bits of flesh that had been visible through the fine mesh of the lace.

"Should I offer again?" Kim teased, leaning forward to rest her forehead against his. "Everyone already thinks we are..." she breathed against his lips.

Ron simply shook his head in negation, keeping his eyes tightly closed.

"You really are mine, aren't you? The extension of my will, my strong right arm, my dagger in the night," Kim breathed, the pleasure in her voice plain as she waxed eloquent. Despite the way she nuzzled his cheek, he maintained his composure and left his arms hanging limply at his sides. "I could order you," she told him, enjoying the attempt to crack his mask of indifference too much to care that she wasn't more successful in her seduction as she tugged gently on his studded collar.

Ron didn't respond to either the verbal or nonverbal invitations.

"I need to give Dr. Director a call, or I _would_ order you, I think. Especially since I have some errands for you to run in Middleton, and it will be some time before we're together again. But the anticipation will surely add spice when it does happen."

Ron's eyes opened as he blinked. Stepping back, away from her touch, he carefully told her, "Anything you want. You know that."

"Yes..." Kim lingeringly replied, savoring the word. "Eventually."

Still smiling, but in a much more businesslike tone of voice, she instructed, "The Middleton Space Center will be launching a resupply rocket for the space station in two days. Before then, put these," she gestured towards a trio of featureless metallic orbs resting on a counter, "aboard the rocket, in the access space between the tertiary and final stages."

"Frederick is on the space station," Ron noted to himself, so quietly as to be almost inaudible.

"I know," Kim casually responded. "Once that task is complete," she continued, "there is a lab near Mount Middleton with some materials I need you to collect. Some are for Ed's project, some for other matters. It shouldn't be very difficult, and I've gathered all the supplies you'll need for these and a few other, minor missions. I've also written down all your instructions so you won't forget anything. You can read them over while you're on the way. Do you have any questions?"

As he sank to his knees, Ron slowly shook his head, his face impassive despite his churning emotions.

Kim gently hugged Ron, holding his face snugly against her chest. "You are mine," she told him firmly, "Never forget it."

Ruffling his hair while holding him against her, Kim told him, "Your hair's getting so long. You need to take better care of yourself. And you deserve a treat - since you won't accept the one I really want to give you," she teased, running her thumb up and down the length of his brand.

Behind Kim, a door whooshed open to admit a humanoid robot carrying a familiarly decorated paper bag, steaming and emitting the smell of meat, cheese, and grease. "I had this flown in from the Bueno Nacho in Casablanca just for you. You need to eat more - keep your strength up," she told him.

With his face pressed against her, Ron vaguely wondered if she could feel his tears as they soaked into the soft fabric of her brassiere. _"I've got... freedom."_ "Anything for you, Kim," he mumbled against the warmth of her blue skin, as tears continued leaking from his eyes. "Anything."

With Kim's watchful eye on him, Ron dried his tears before raising his head. He managed to swallow a few bites of the naco while she approvingly watched him eat, but the food tasted of ash in his mouth.

As soon as Kim's attention was diverted, as she finished dressing for her call, Ron stealthily slipped away, leaving the remainder of the food congealing on the floor.

xxxXXXxxx

To be continued...

**xxxXXXxxx**

**Author's Notes:** In case you couldn't tell by now, I'm treating this one a little differently from some of my other works. Part of it is simply lack of time - if I wrote this with the level of detail of TSOM or KP:STD, it'd take forever - and part is a stylistic choice - after all, minutiae of lair construction or bot design (which is a large part of the beginning of Kim's plan to this point) may be nifty, but it would be fairly tedious to read - and write - about. This approach shows glimpses of the developments in evil Kim's plans, and what's happening in Ron's mind in broad terms, without explicitly spelling anything out - and there's a reason why it isn't being detailed... yet, but glimpses of motivations should be visible.

Let me know what you think, and R&R!

And because I'm feeling evil, here's a segment from about part 4 or 5...

xxxXXXxxx

Bonnie Rockwaller awoke with a start as a chill breeze washed across her face. _"I thought I closed the window before I went to bed,"_ she sleepily thought.

After rubbing her eyes, Bonnie blinked as the wind caused the filmy material of her curtains to billow inward. She shivered as the cold air played across her arms, leaving a trail of goosebumps in its wake.

She sat up, then shivered as more of her was exposed to the cold air through her thin nightdress. Before Bonnie could slip from her bed to close the window, some sixth sense tickled at the edge of her consciousness, and she abruptly realized she was not alone in her bedroom.

Bonnie turned her head, somehow sensing the presence of the shadowed figure standing in the corner. Before her swiftly indrawn breath could be released in a scream of terror, Bonnie found herself pinned to the bed, a powerful hand sealing her mouth shut and trapping her screams behind a muffling barrier.

Hyperventilating through her nose, Bonnie's eyes widened in fear as she thrashed beneath the intruder, hampered by the bedclothes entangled around her lower half. Despite her athleticism and years of both ballet and cheerleading to lend her strength, flexibility, and grace, she could neither displace the weight from atop her, nor land a blow - he (and she assumed it was a he, though she still could only see a shadowy shape) seemed to slip away from her every attempt, and hold her ever more tightly while trapping her more securely.

A sliver of moonlight reflecting from her vanity mirror briefly bathed the intruder's face in pale silvery-blue light, illuminating chocolate-brown eyes. The fight drained from Bonnie with a jarring abruptness as profound relief flooded her.

_"Oh... It's just Stoppable. Stupid jerk - scaring me like that... What's he think he's doing? And what's with the collar? He must be taking the whole 'mad dog' thing to heart."_

But after her initial rush of confused thoughts had run its course, her moment of relief was swiftly replaced by renewed worry as she wondered, _"Wait... What's the froob doing in my room? Is one of Kim's freaks after me?"_

With Bonnie stilled, Ron swiftly contained her, entangling her legs tightly in her blanket and trapping her arms beneath the weight of his knees, immobilizing her beneath him. When she showed signs of resuming her struggles, he leaned close so she could see him - however dimly - and held one finger up to his lips to tell her to be silent.

Although confusion and worry were plain in her eyes, Bonnie slowly nodded. Ron's grip on her mouth eased slightly, but he didn't release his hold entirely, nor did he relent in keeping her pinned.

With her eyes following his every move, Ron lightly tapped the metal bracelet encircling the wrist above the hand covering her mouth. With the faintest crackle of static, a small hologram hummed into life floating in the air above Bonnie's face.

Kim's smirking face appeared to look down across Bonnie's. Even with how dim the holographic illumination was, she was readily identifiable.

The image was barely larger than a doll or a Cuddle-Buddy, about a foot in height, and replicated Kim in miniature - although she was garbed in some black outfit Bonnie had never seen her wear before. _"Not to mention the blue skin. You'd think if they'd be willing to spend all that money on the fancy gizmo they'd make sure the color balance was tuned."_

"Hello, Bonnie," Kim's voice came to Bonnie, but she couldn't seem to place where it was coming from. "Don't bother looking for a speaker," Kim's voice held more than a hint of smug superiority as she explained, "You and Ron are hearing me via bone induction. I'd tell you how it works, but you wouldn't understand me, anyway."

_"Arrogant cow,"_ Bonnie thought to herself, somehow resisting the urge to spit into Kim's pet's palm.

"Save the insults," the hologram continued. "And no, I can't read your mind - but I know you, and you're very predictable. It's pitifully easy to predict your responses.

"If Ron's followed his instructions, and I don't doubt he has, you're all alone in your room, he's holding you down, and his hands are on your body, enabling you to hear me. Do you like it? Were you frightened?"

_"So not,"_ Bonnie snorted against Ron's palm, recovering her composure as she mustered her instinctive animosity towards her cheerleading nemesis and her hanger-on.

"Don't lie," Kim's image grinned. "Because, frankly, you should be frightened. Ron's been _very_ good lately, and he deserves a reward. And, Bonnie... that reward... is you."

Bonnie's eyes widened in shock. Ron's weight shifted slightly atop her, but before Kim's words could really sink in, her voice continued.

"At least in part," the holo-Kim smirked, "but you don't need to know the rest, Bon-Bon. You've always been a pain, and to be blunt, you're also self-centered, self-serving, conniving, a liar, a cheat, a malicious gossip, a boyfriend stealer, and a tease. The world would be a better place if you'd never been born - and considering the people living in the world right now, that's really saying something. I'd tell Ron where the belt buckle he bought you is, by the way. It's mine now. You don't deserve a gift from him."

Too frightened and confused to muster a word or thought of protest, Bonnie simply stared up at the hologram of Kim's evilly grinning blue face and the shadowed shape of Ron's face that was dimly visible through the holographic projection. Trapped beneath the weight of Ron's body, with Kim's taunts echoing through her skull, Bonnie's lungs heaved as her fear began to spiral out of control.

"Ron," Kim's voice continued. "Enjoy yourself. She owes you. For years of torment, mockery, and pain." She smiled, the expression incongruously loving as she added, "You'll have to show me everything you learn from the experience when you've completed your missions - and be sure to bring me a souvenir. I can't wait for you to come back to me. Hurry back... I'll be waiting for you," she finished, a none-too-subtle promise heating her words.

Bonnie struggled, briefly, as the hologram flickered out and Kim's voice went silent. Then she felt a touch against the side of her neck, and after a moment everything went dark.

Ron checked to be sure the pressure point had worked, and that Bonnie was truly unconscious, then cautiously lifted himself from atop her. _"Maybe there's something to those books Kim took from Monty's library after all."_

Ron waited a moment, listening for the faintest hint of awareness of his presence from the other residents of the house. When all remained still, he began his search.

The ruby belt buckle he'd bought for Bonnie while in a frenzy of sudden wealth he found concealed at the bottom of her jewelry box, under a camouflaging handful of cheap costume jewelry. Ron felt a moment's hesitation when he found Bonnie's diary in a dresser drawer, but quickly swallowed his initial reaction and claimed it - as well as a few other items that Bonnie would undoubtedly rather keep private.

Although he was reluctant to take the revenge any further, he doubted Kim would be satisfied with his meager collection. From a sheath at the back of his belt, he drew a slim-bladed knife. The blade flashed brightly in the moonlight as Ron gazed down on Bonnie's unconscious face, sending shards of silver dancing across her prone form. _"She looks so innocent... so peaceful like this..."_

"Forgive me, Bon-Bon," Ron whispered, leaning down.

xxxXXXxxx

Evil enough for you? Review and tell me how exactly how evil I am. 


	10. Bad Future 2

**The next segment from "Bad Future," which immediately follows the first segment (which is chapter 1 of "The Shape of Things Yet To Come")**

Enjoy and R&R!

**

xxxXXXxxx

**

**Bad Future Part 2**

**A First Peek Into Zorpox's Past**

**

xxxXXXxxx

**

Shego shook her head in disbelief as Drakken plucked the business card from her hand to examine it more closely. "Given the number of our lairs you've been in - and destroyed - over the years? I'd have to say you know a _lot_ about them."

Ron chuckled. "Yours and a lot of other people's, too. But that was a _long_ time ago."

"Not nearly long enough," Drakken mumbled under his breath, glancing briefly up from the business card before returning to his study of the fine print.

"True enough," Shego nodded, raising her voice to drown out Dr. Drakken's almost inaudible comment. She frowned at her boss quellingly, irritated by his attitude, then looked askance at Ron as she asked, "So what happened to you? You dropped out of sight pretty convincingly. Not that we really looked for you or anything, but still," she noted, "I would have thought we'd have heard _something_ about you. I _also_ couldn't help but notice that Kimmie's autobiography didn't mention you, either."

"What with one thing and another," Ron admitted, "I dropped out of the business - however broadly you care to define the whole hero-villain thing - entirely for a while. Frankly, I wanted to keep my distance from anything and everything that could possibly remind me of... Well, pretty much anything."

"Yeah? So what happened to make you drop out? You obviously didn't get killed, maimed, or lose an important body part." She eyed him consideringly - especially his much improved wardrobe, then suggested, "You get married? There a Mrs. Zorpox back at your own lair?"

Drakken's eyes shot up from the card and his scar twitched as he scowled ferociously. His glance strayed back and forth between his sidekick and the visitor, and the gears visibly ground against each other in his mind as he just as visibly leaped full bore to an utterly erroneous conclusion.

"Easy," Ron cautioned the suddenly glowering scientist, as his hand drifted close to his belt buckle - and the small array of buttons that could be seen sprouting from around its perimeter. "Don't worry; she's just being curious - and sociable. Nothing more."

Shego scowled as she turned her glare on her scowling employer. "No _doy_, Doc. Amp down. And you wonder why we never get any _friendly_ visitors," she snarled.

"To answer your question, Shego," Ron continued, as he let his arm relax slightly. Drakken's expression had eased just as slightly following Shego's reassuringly familiar snapping at him. "No, I've never been married. In fact, the only person I've seen socially in... well, _years_ is Betty, and we have a different sort of relationship."

Drakken's eyes widened in surprise. _"There's only one person by that name in our circles,"_ he realized. "You can't possibly mean... Betty... Director?" he demanded in disbelief, his eyes growing even wider.

"You sell lairs to villains... but you date the head of Global Justice?" Shego demanded. "The cyclops?"

"Not date, per se," Ron shrugged. "It's just that there are occasions and functions - either for the head of GJ or for myself as an entrepreneur - when being accompanied by an escort is considered mandatory, either for administrative or social reasons, and since neither of us are especially... interested..." He fell silent for a moment, pausing to organize his thoughts before continuing.

"She and I have known each other a long time," he eventually explained, "nearly as long as we," Ron paused as he gestured vaguely between himself and the villains with one gloved hand, "have, and we also know each other well enough to know what topics we should avoid broaching with each other, so we're... comfortable together. Certainly comfortable enough to deal with the rubber chicken circuit. I suppose you could say we're good friends. Of a sort."

Shego's grin turned sly as she considered his explanation. "Friends... With benefits?"

Her insinuation was obvious - so much so that even Dr. Drakken realized the thrust of her question. He let himself relax further as it finally sank into his beyond-genius intellect that Shego really _hadn't_ been flirting with the visitor.

Ron chuckled and shook his head at Shego's teasing question. "Oh, no. It's nothing like that. We really are just friends..." he smiled lopsidedly, trying to think of another way of describing or defining what they had, but was unsuccessful. "It's... really just as simple as that. We try to keep work out of our... arrangement, because it might complicate things. Usually. Not that she doesn't enjoy pumping me sometimes..."

Even as Shego was drawing breath to respond, Ron continued on after taking a breath of his own. "...for information. But frankly, I think she enjoys the reaction she gets when we arrive together at public functions more than any other aspect of our 'relationship.' Bureaucrats tend to be very straight-laced, so when we're recognized, it tweaks a large number of people - and even when we're _not_ recognized, the age difference is still usually enough to spark a reaction.

"I do go solo to most business or villainous functions, and she goes to most official functions by herself. It's not exactly what most people would call a typical or normal relationship, but... it works for us," he shrugged.

He chuckled once more before adding, "I did agree to be her escort to the last Halloween ball, though. I guess that could be considered kind of an official function. If you're interested, I think I've still got that picture..." Given the expressions on their faces, he nodded slightly, one corner of his mouth quirking into a half-grin.

From a breast pocket inside his suit coat, Ron drew a small handheld computer shaped vaguely like the capital letter "Z" and began typing on the keypad inset into the lower half of the device. After a moment, a beam of light began to emanate from a crystal mounted on the thin top edge of the mechanism as he entered the final keystrokes. When his hands stilled on the device, the light pulsed as a photograph was projected in monumental scale against a nearby wall.

The chromatically-challenged duo had barely even turned to see the magnified picture before Shego abruptly snorted as she swallowed the sudden burst of laughter that rose in her throat. The photo was of a couple standing in front of a black and orange balloon archway - the stereotypical background for couple photography at a holiday "event." A banner that stretched diagonally between the legs of the arch proclaimed the event to be the "Global Justice Halloween Ball," but the date listed below the text was unreadable beyond a "20," the remainder hidden behind the pair standing at the center of the picture.

In the enlarged photo, Ron was garbed as a WEE henchman - the large letter "A" emblazoned on the pale blue circle on his chest identifying his position inside the evil organization. His features were largely hidden behind the helmet and blue visor that were part of the uniform, but the lower part of his face was clearly visible - along with his smirk.

Dr. Director stood beside the slightly taller "Agent Alpha," her shoulder pressed against his arm as she posed beside her date. Global Justice's commander was daringly dressed in a low-cut, midriff baring top with leather pants that fit so snugly, they looked like they'd been sprayed on. Her hair was hidden beneath a blonde wig, the part styled in such a way that the long bangs hung over one side of her face, concealing the eyepatch she wore over her missing eye. Dr. Director's grin was manic - either to further the imposture, or from the sheer entertainment value of the costumes they'd worn, and the reactions they had undoubtedly provoked from her subordinates.

Although Dr. Director was visibly mature, she'd aged well, and she was clearly still more than fit enough to pull off the scant style of dress. The taut muscles of her abdomen were highlighted in the gap in her clothing thanks to the arch of her back, while her pants emphasized more than concealed the definition in her calves and thighs as her muscles were clenched beneath the snug leather.

"You went... to a Global Justice dance... dressed as Agent Alpha and Adrena Lynn?" Shego demanded, laughing into one hand as she stared at the photo. Dr. Drakken snickered from beside her, but didn't comment beyond a muttered, "Freaky."

Ron shrugged as he grinned. "What can I say? It was a costume ball - and Halloween _is_ one of my favorite holidays." His grin gained a slightly harder edge as he added, "Besides, tweaking GJ is _always_ an entertaining prospect."

Shego raised an eyebrow, but didn't ask the obvious questions as Ron busied himself in shutting down the projector. She was also moderately disgusted to see that her boss appeared to have completely missed the nuances underlying Ron's comments, since Dr. Drakken's smile remained obliviously amused as he turned away from the fading projection.

Smiling to himself, Ron noted their reactions. Shego was even more intrigued than she'd been when he arrived, and Dr. Drakken had lost much of his instinctive air of menace, apparently having forgotten most of his vengeful thoughts thanks to the timely distractions. _"Perfect."_

With the ice broken, and the villainous pair in a good mood, Ron rubbed his gloved hands together in anticipation. "Well, shall we have a seat?" he asked cheerily.

**XXXxxxXXX**

To be continued...

**XXXxxxXXX**

Not a large update - either in word count or in furtherance of the plot, but it's one that I've had on ice for a while that I decided to finally finish, polish, and post. More hints of the events that lead to this future, without outright answering any of the larger questions. Hmm... I think I'm seeing a pattern in my writing style...

R&R!


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